


The Seven Sins

by Seallen



Series: The Nephilim [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Angels, Blood and Violence, Demons, F/M, Gluttony, Healing, Lust, Multi, Nephilim, Pride, Seven Deadly Sins, Sex, Superpowers, Telekinesis, Teleportation, Urban Fantasy, envy - Freeform, greed - Freeform, sloth - Freeform, wrath - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seallen/pseuds/Seallen
Summary: Six months after the events in The One, Lucifer is still dead. Hope is working in the emergency department. Seth is running Hell. Gideon is—not up to very much.Then two new Nephilim are discovered—and one of them may be more than she seems.Then The Seven Deadly Sins are unleashed—and there's only one being who could set them free.But Lucifer'sdead.Isn't he?
Relationships: Gideon Marshall & Dominic Tranh, Gideon Marshall & Raphael, Gideon Marshall & Sarya Singh, Hope Grayson & Dominic Tranh, Hope Grayson & Raphael, Hope Grayson & Sarya Singh, Hope Grayson/Gideon Marshall, Hope Grayson/Seth|Samael
Series: The Nephilim [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128611
Kudos: 2





	1. If You’re Selling Different, Then I’m Buying

**Author's Note:**

> Sarya had a fractured right tibia, pelvis, and couple of ribs, but within seconds, Hope could feel the bones knit themselves together, the bruised and damaged tissue repairing itself.  
> Then she felt something else.  
> Hope yanked her hands away, leaping out of the chair, causing it to crash to the floor behind her.  
> The girl was Nephilim.  
> Sarya’s eyes flew open, startled as they met Hope’s, who bit her lip to stifle a gasp of surprise and horror. The girl’s eyes were black, depthless, the color of a starless, moonless night.  
> They were Lucifer’s eyes.

“Hey, whatcha doin’ tonight?” Sarya’s best friend Ethan asked, leaning against the locker beside hers, a sly smile on his face.

Sarya glanced up at him, smiling back. His brown hair started to fall into his face; she reached up and swiped it away before it could. He rolled his eyes at the gesture, but it was with affection.

Probably.

“Playing D&D at your place, I’m guessing,” she replied, grabbing her backpack from her locker and slinging it over one shoulder as she slammed the door. “You got the group together, then?”

Ethan nodded. “Olivia is practicing with the special quartet tonight,” he muttered, following it with a fart noise. “But everyone else is down. Maybe we can finally kill that Gorgon.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

Sarya and Ethan were both taking a summer animation program at the Victoria School of Art, an intense two-week, full-day program; although Sarya loved it, she wouldn’t be _too_ sorry to be done at the end of the week. She was surprised her mother had gone along with it at all, since she didn’t really think of art as a real thing. But it was probably because she heard the word ‘school’.

“Are you sure you can be apart from your precious Dark Elf that long?” Sarya headed down the hall, Ethan following, then down the stairs and outside. The best Wifi reception in the school could be found on the small landing just outside the back door, where Sarya was headed. And since it was raining, most of the students opted to stay inside for lunch, so they didn’t even have to fight for space.

“I think she’s ghosting me. She always seems to be busy, either with band practice, or softball, or insert-something-more-important-here.”

Sarya could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant, but she knew he was hurt. She knew everything about him. They’d been friends for eleven years, ever since kindergarten, when she shared one of her two rainbow chocolate chip cookies with him.

“That’s cold, Eth.” She shot him a sympathetic glance as she slid down the door to sit, her backpack in her lap. After rummaging around until she found her mini tablet, she scrolled through Crunchyroll until she found the newest episode of their current favorite anime, _The Rising of the Shield Hero_. Ethan dropped beside her, leaning against her shoulder to watch, their heads pressed together in front of the small screen.

“That had better be hentai.”

Sarya didn’t even have to look up to know the voice belonged to Aiden, one of their regular school classmates. Sarya had been surprised to see him here; he didn’t seem like the animation type. His douchey personality had certainly followed him here, though.

She paused the episode, then gave him a withering stare, brows drawn. “No, that’s your account. Now go away, the grown-ups are busy.” She didn’t wait for him to leave before turning her gaze back to the program. There were only a few minutes left in the break, maybe enough to finish the episode, if they skipped the end credits.

“Jesus, someone’s touchy. Is it that time of the month?” he asked, clearly trying for a reaction, any reaction.

He got one.

Ethan shot up from the floor, pulling himself to full height, his face inches from Aiden’s. Aiden was taller, barely, but Ethan was angrier.

Aiden stepped back, his hands raised in surrender. “Sorry. I wasn’t aware the maiden fair had such an ardent protector.”

Sarya rolled her eyes so hard they felt like they’d stay that way, folding the screen protector over her tablet. Not enough time now. She stuffed the tablet into her backpack, then stood beside Ethan, lifting her head to look Aiden dead in the eye. “I don’t need any protection. But if you don’t learn to keep your dumb mouth shut, you will. From me.” She narrowed her eyes at him, then, linking her arm through Ethan’s, headed back inside.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. Sarya was stuck on this one piece, the lion’s movement not quite right. But just as their instructor announced time, she _finally_ got it. And then waited for Ethan at her locker for several minutes, her excitement dying the longer she stood. When he didn’t show, she headed for the main door. Maybe they had agreed to meet there instead.

It was still raining when she stepped through the main entrance doors, remembering right then that Ethan had told her he had a dentist appointment right after class. He was finally getting rid of his straightening trays and had to pick up his retainer.

He would text her once he got home.

She half-slung her backpack off to search for her umbrella before she remembered she’d left it in Ethan’s car. Then shrugged. A little rain wouldn’t kill her.

She walked to the end of the downtown street, heading toward the bus stop on the other side. As she looked to her right, she noticed her bus sitting at the intersection on a red light. If she ran, she should just make it to the stop before the bus did. She glanced quickly both ways—they were clear. Hooking her fingers through the straps of her backpack to keep it from flopping against her back, she dashed across the street, pausing briefly to let a passing cyclist through the bike lane.

She was almost across the street when she noticed the car beside her.

Too close.

Time stopped dead as she froze, realizing she was about to be hit. The driver wasn’t even looking at her, too focused on something on the passenger seat—probably her phone—to stop or even slow down.

Sarya felt the car strike her side.

Then felt nothing at all.

#

Hope Grayson glanced up at the large white board at the main nursing desk, then at the clock. And sighed. It had been a crazy busy day in emergency, and she still had an hour left in her shift. Just enough time to get one more patient started before she left.

“Hope. Curtain twelve.” Angela, the charge nurse, handed her the clipboard of papers serving as the patient’s chart. “Sixteen-year old female, hit-and-run, possible fractures and a concussion. C-spine clear. You’ll need to keep an eye on her until the porter takes her to x-ray.” Hope nodded as she grabbed the clipboard and headed down the hall, stopping just outside a curtained area, the last one on the left. Twitching it aside, she peeked in.

The girl lay on her back, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling evenly. She looked tiny, her shoulder-length dark hair scattered across the pillow, her light brown skin contrasting with the overly-bleached, hospital-grade pillow case.

“Hello?” Hope called, trying to keep her voice quiet. But there was no response. She crept toward the bed, placing the clipboard on the bedside table. “Hello?” she said again. Then she glanced at the top corner of one page, at the label with the patient’s name. “Sarya? Sarya Singh?”

Still no response. A sliver of fear pierced Hope’s gut. The board said the girl might have a concussion, but what if she’d had a bleed? If she had brain damage—

Hope took a deep breath as she scanned the monitors beside the bed. The girl’s vital signs were normal; they wouldn’t be if she was bleeding into her skull. Also, if she was sleeping, she had likely been given a narcotic for the pain which would never have happened if anyone believed she truly had a concussion.

Hope walked around to the other side of the bed, lowering the side rail as she dropped into the chair beside it. Then, glancing up again to ensure nobody could see, she placed her hands on the girl’s chest, just below her clavicles. The moment her hands made contact with Sarya’s skin, they began to warm, a bright, white light leaking from between her fingers.

It didn’t take nearly as long or nearly as much of Hope’s energy to heal people now.

Sarya had a fractured right tibia, pelvis, and couple of ribs, but within seconds, Hope could feel the bones knit themselves together, the bruised and damaged tissue repairing itself.

Then she felt something else.

Hope yanked her hands away, leaping out of the chair, causing it to crash to the floor behind her.

The girl was Nephilim.

Sarya’s eyes flew open, startled as they met Hope’s, who bit her lip to stifle a gasp of surprise and horror. The girl’s eyes were black, depthless, the color of a starless, moonless night.

They were Lucifer’s eyes.

#

“Who the hell are you?” Sarya asked, looking around the small curtained off area. She must be in the hospital, what with the railed bed and the equipment on the walls.

But she didn’t remember how she got here. Or even _why_ she was here.

The woman sitting in the chair beside her—who must be a nurse or a doctor or something, since she wearing the hospital-issue green scrubs—burst out laughing, shaking her head as she righted the chair and sank into it. “If only you knew how prophetic that phrase was,” she muttered. Then she shook her head again as if to clear it, pulling a clipboard across her lap. “My name’s Hope, and I’m a nurse here. Is it okay if I ask you a couple of questions?”

Sarya snorted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Sarya shook her head, which made her feel a bit lightheaded. “Not really. I remember running across the street for the bus after art school,” she said. But everything after that was blank. “And then I woke up here.”

“You were hit by a car,” Hope said softly, lowering her gaze.

Just like that, the memory slammed into Sarya’s body like the car did. The droplets of rain glimmering on the front grill just before it struck her. The wet asphalt soaking through her tights. Her right leg at the wrong angle.

She shuddered and then, without thinking, bent her knees. It should have sent a wave of agony through her body; it had, earlier, when she first arrived. But nothing hurt anymore. Not her leg, not her ribs, even her headache was gone.

“How?” she murmured, half to herself as she sat up in the bed, lifting her eyes to Hope’s again.

Hope smiled at her, but there was something odd about it. Like she knew something wasn’t quite right, like she knew—a secret. “I guess you just got really lucky,” was all she said.

“I guess,” Sarya conceded.

“There’s no father listed in your chart. Do you have one?” Hope asked bluntly.

Sarya shook her head. “He took off before I was born,” she muttered, then pressed her lips together. She hadn’t told anyone that before. Not even Ethan.

A range of expressions flew across Hope’s face: empathy, understanding, then a flash of anger, her face finally settling on determination.

But not pity.

Sarya let out the breath she’d been holding, her shoulders dropping. “My mom never mentions him. And the couple of times I asked, she just shook her head.” She lifted one corner of her mouth. “He must have been a real dick.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hope muttered, so quietly Sarya wasn’t sure she heard her properly. Then, more loudly, she asked, “Have you ever done anything before you couldn’t explain?”

“Like what?” That question was vague. And cryptic.

Hope pressed her lips together, her eyes darkening slightly.

Sarya had never seen eyes that color before. Well, not on a real person. They were a brilliant, bright emerald, the kind of green an anime character would have.

“Have you ever…moved something without knowing how you did it?” Hope finally asked, her voice cautious. “Or…wound up somewhere and didn’t know how you got there?”

“Those don’t seem like questions that would be on any of your forms,” Sarya said. Hope, this woman, felt…different. Sarya couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was…something about her. She wanted to know more.

Hope took a deep breath, apparently making some sort of decision. “I need to tell you something. Something you might not believe.”

“Okay.” Sarya sat up straighter, her fingers digging into the blankets, her heart starting to race.

“Are you sure you want to hear what I have to say?” Hope paused, placing the clipboard on the small supply table beside her. “Not to sound too dramatic, but everything will change for you.” She absently patted her hands over the pockets of her scrub top until she found a hair tie, pulling her blond curls back and securing them with the elastic at her neck. “I didn’t get the chance to…not know. To choose to stay normal, ordinary. But I want to give it to you.” She turned to Sarya, her green eyes steady.

Sarya met Hope’s gaze. “I’ve been ordinary my whole life.” Worse than ordinary. Boring. Unremarkable. “If you’re selling different, then I’m buying,” she said softly.

#

Sarya didn’t say a word as Hope talked. She just sat in her bed at stared, her eyes getting wider and wider with every word. But not with skepticism or disbelief. More like—wonder.

And after Hope was done, Sarya didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Maybe even didn’t breathe. Until, finally—

“I’m half-angel?” she asked, her face breaking into an incredulous smile. “That is so incredibly cool.”

It made Hope remember her reaction to the news, how much she didn’t welcome it, didn’t want it. She’d always wanted to be normal, ordinary. But maybe, if she’d found out when she was younger, like most other Nephilim—

“So, do I have superpowers?” Sarya sat up, scooting herself to the edge of the bed, Hope sliding her chair back to make room. “That’s why you asked if I’d done anything before, right?”

Hope frowned, unsure about how much to say right away. Sarya might be excited now, but her excitement might be tempered once she learned _how_ different she could be. On the other hand, there was no way of knowing what she could even do yet. But if Sarya _was_ Lucifer’s daughter, she sure to one hell of a Nephilim—

Hope smiled at her unexpected pun.

“I’m not sure,” Hope said. “I mean, I’m sure you do have powers—all Nephilim do. I’m just not sure which ones yet.” She paused, debating, her lips pressing together. Then decided to just tell her the truth. “You’re only the second Nephilim I’ve ever met,” she said softly, her gaze trailing to the floor. “Besides me.”

“Whoa, really?” Sarya swung her legs swung back and forth against the stretcher, too short to reach the floor. “Are we that rare?”

“No,” Hope said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. “Or at least we didn’t used to be. About six months ago, we were almost wiped out.” _Maybe by your father_ , she didn’t say. Then she cleared her throat, straightening in her chair, meeting Sarya’s eyes once again. “Gideon—the other Nephilim—and I were put in charge of finding others, of training them. You’re the first one I’ve found.”

“Sweet. Is the training going to be like in _Shadowhunters_?” Sarya asked, her eyes dancing.

Hope laughed out loud, remembering her _Karate Kid_ joke to Raphael, feeling suddenly old. “Not that far off, to be honest. We have a training room and sleeping quarters. Kind of like a boarding school.” She pressed her lips together again. “It’s probably more like Harry Potter, to be honest.”

“Great! Where do I sign up?” Sarya asked, sliding her hands to the edge of the stretcher, pushing off them to stand. Just as she landed, a petite, slender woman twitched the curtain aside, her hair and facial features like Sarya’s, only harder, sharper. Haughty.

She must be Sarya’s mother. Only _her_ eyes, tight with what looked like annoyance, were tawny brown. Not black. She lifted an elegant brow at Sarya, very much healthy and fracture-free.

“Hi, Mom.” Sarya’s buoyancy died, the dark light in her eyes fading, her mouth dropping into a scowl.

“Sarya! What happened?” The woman pushed past Hope, clutching Sarya’s upper arms. Sarya gave Hope a strange look over her mother’s shoulder, a mix of resignation and relief, tears shimmering in her dark eyes.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Sarya pulled away. “I was in an accident, hit by a car—”

“But she was very, very lucky,” Hope interrupted. “Aside from a few bruises, she’ll be fine. The car must not have been going very fast.”

“But they said she had broken bones,” the woman replied, turning to face Hope, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Hope felt her face grow hot. She lowered her gaze, snatching the clipboard from the table behind her. She pretended to scan it, then met Sarya’s mother’s irritated gaze.

“We must have gotten her chart mixed up with another patient, an older woman who came in around the same time,” Hope lied, fixing her own expression into one of passive apology. “I am so very sorry for the distress we caused. I was just coming in to let Sarya know she’s discharged home, whenever you’re ready.”

Sarya’s mother frowned, then opened her mouth to say something but apparently thought better of it. “I’m just relieved she’s all right,” she said, shrugging her purse strap further up her shoulder. “Do I need to sign anything?”

Hope shook her head. “No, just if anything changes, if Sarya develops a headache or the pain worsens, she should see her doctor.” It was the usual discharge line, the one she gave all her patients who were well enough to walk out of here. But she knew it was unnecessary. She gave Sarya’s mom a bland smile, watching her turn to reach for Sarya’s backpack on the other side of the stretcher. Once her back was turned, Hope met Sarya’s gaze. _We’ll find you_ , she mouthed to her, then pasted the mild smile back on her face.

“Here, Mom, I’ve got it.” Sarya snatched her backpack from her mom’s hands, flashing Hope a quick grin as she slid her arms through the snaps. “Can we have Subway for dinner?”

Sarya’s mom rolled her eyes but nodded. “Have you finished your project yet?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Sarya scowled, slipping her feet into her purple leather ankle boots. Without answering, she shoved the curtain aside, letting her mother leave first, then turned back to Hope one more time.

“Make it soon,” she said, her expression a mixture of pleading and irritation. Hope snorted once, then waved goodbye.

#

Hope turned the key to her apartment, reminding herself to get Raphael to take down the protection wards he’d placed there. Just like she did every time she had to open her door like a regular person. She probably _could_ just press her hand against the lock, like before, but it made her feel silly enough not to bother.

Kicking off her shoes before she even walked in the door—God only knew what could’ve been on them—she placed them gingerly on the inside mat.

“Seth?” She called out.

Silence.

He normally met her here after work, sometimes arriving long before she did—running Hell wasn’t exactly a full-time job. Not anymore. Seth had closed the portals and banned possession almost as soon as he took over. Just about everything else was run by the underlings Lucifer had placed centuries ago; Seth joked the only thing he had to do was paperwork, but even that was mostly handled by his lieutenants.

Hope shrugged, peeling off her socks as she padded into the dining room, pouring herself a generous dollop of bourbon. Holding the glass to her lips, she took a deep breath of the sweet, burnt sugar smell before she took a small sip, letting it roll around in her mouth for a moment before she swallowed. She felt her whole body relax, the tension of the day melting as the warmth of the alcohol reached her limbs.

“Seth?” She called again, focusing it this time to…out there, wherever he was. When he still didn’t answer, she shrugged again, striding to the bedroom, glass in hand. She placed it on the dresser as she pulled her scrub top and pants off, tossing them directly into the laundry bin. Just as she began to straighten, she felt a warm hand on her ass, making her startle.

“Christ!” She jumped up, whirling to face him. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Seth’s full lips curled into a sensuous smile, his brow shooting up as he reached to pull her closer. “And you shouldn’t walk around the house in your underwear. Who knows what kind of miserable letch you might attract?”

“The best kind?” she asked, curling her hands around his waist, then sliding them lower, running her thumbs over his hipbones, just above his jeans. She stepped closer, biting her lip as she glanced up at him through her lashes. “I hope you weren’t too busy.”

“I am never too busy to come to the call of a half-naked woman,” he growled, pulling her against him, their lips nearly touching, his warm breath making her face burn. “But you really should get Raphael to get rid of those wards.” She smiled as she flicked her gaze up to his, the steel-blue of his iris a thin band around his wide pupils.

“I’ve been meaning to…” she murmured. “But how many half-naked women are calling you these days?” Her voice became husky as she slid her fingers under the waistband of his pants, digging her nails into his lower back. His breathing hitched, his fingers convulsing against her skin, pressing her into him. If she had any doubt whether he was interested, it was gone now.

“Just one who matters,” he answered, his soft chuckle rumbling through her chest. His fingers twitched again, his arms tightening around her waist, but she resisted, moving her face infinitesimally closer to his, but still not touching. She flicked her tongue out, the tip just darting across his upper lip. “You are going to be the death of me, woman,” he groaned, closing his eyes.

“Only if you’re lucky.” Deciding to put him out of his misery, she moved the tiny distance to brush her lips with his, intending to keep moving, to keep dropping light kisses along his jaw to his neck.

He was having none of that.

He dug his fingers into her lower back as he kissed her back urgently, running his tongue along her upper lip as if it contained the last drop of water on earth. Hope surrendered, pressing her body along his, her breasts crushed against his chest. His hands slid up her back, smooth and warm; once he reached the nape of her neck, he curled his fingers, digging in his nails, leaving a hot, stinging trail along her spine until he reached her bra strap. He flicked his finger, once, and it was undone.

“You’re good,” she said, breaking away.

“Not my first time,” he replied, curving his lips into another wicked smile. “Or my thousandth.” He pulled away just far enough for her bra to slide down her arms; she released him, watching it fall to the carpet beneath them. As she reached for him again, his hands met hers, twining their fingers together. He stepped back, their hands the only connection now, gazing up and down her body as he led her to the bed. Once they reached the foot of it, he gently pushed her down onto her back, their fingers still entwined against the covers, his hair tickling her cheek. He kissed her again, roughly, catching her lower lip between his teeth, sliding his hands down her arms to her breasts.

Hope felt delirious, drugged, her limbs heavy, her breath ragged and uneven. She closed her eyes, unable to move, to think as his mouth made its way down her neck, then along her chest, finally fastening on her nipple. She cried out, unable to help herself as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive flesh, her back arching, her entire body now on fire. She dimly felt her own hands clutching the blankets beside her, nearly all her control gone.

Then nothing. Just the late evening breeze, coming in through the balcony, cooling her overheated body. Her eyes flew open, the dying light from outside casting one last pink-gold shadow on the ceiling. She glanced around, then down. Just as Seth ripped her underwear down her legs, his tongue curling around her.

“Oh my dear God,” she gasped, her hands nearly shredding the blankets, her body arched tight.

Because Seth was good at this. Really good. The best, really.

“He’s not here,” Seth murmured against her body, as he licked her again. “You’re going to have to settle for me.”

She was too senseless to reply, her body running on pure instinct as he stroked her again and again with his tongue; she bit her lip to keep from crying out as he brought her closer, closer.

Then stopped. Hope couldn’t help herself, she writhed underneath him, pleading with her body for him to continue, to finish.

Seth splayed his hand across her belly, holding her still as he brought himself up, leaning over her. He bent his head to run his tongue along her nipple, then stopped again just as she arched it up for him to go deeper.

“Are you trying to kill me?” she ground out, her body reluctantly relaxing against the bed.

“Maybe,” he chuckled, his breath warm on her neck.

“You’re succeeding,” she breathed, helpless beneath him.

“Good.” His teeth fastened on her neck, biting her nearly hard enough to draw blood before he brushed his lips along her jaw, the corner of her mouth. “Because I want you to beg,” he said against her lips. She raised her head to meet his mouth; he pulled away.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she swore, throwing her head back. Her whole body was one big nerve; one touch, one stroke from him and she felt like she would explode, like her entire body would shatter into a million pieces.

“Also not here,” he breathed, just grazing his lips against hers. “Beg.”

“No.” The only rational part left, and it was shrinking by the second, would not let him win. But his mouth was on her neck, right at her pulse point. And his hands, his fingers, hovered over her, waiting to stroke her, to take her over the edge.

“Beg,” he said again, his breath hot against the blood thrumming along the artery at her neck.

“Please.” The word was torn from her lips, followed by a nip at her throat, a curl of his finger against her. She groaned.

“Again.”

“Please,” she pleaded, her entire body bowed against the bed. Again she was rewarded.

“Again.”

“Samael _please_.” She didn’t know how much more she could take. And didn’t have to find out. At his name, he sealed his mouth against hers, his fingers sliding against her as he—somehow managing to remove the bottom half of his clothes—smoothly slid into her, her own shudders taking over before he was able to thrust into her again. She felt herself fracture, her hands clutched at his hips, her nails digging into his back as he thrust into her again and again.

Until he reached his own climax and then he collapsed over her, both of them sweaty and breathing hard.

The best way to end a work day.

#

_“You should have sided with me, Hope Grayson.”_

_Lucifer stood with her on the roof of the Hall of Healing, his fingers clutching her chin, his face only inches from hers. She could feel the seething malice radiating from him, his midnight-black eyes filling her vision as he leaned closer, brushing his mouth lightly against hers before she felt his infernal blade slide through her belly like butter._

Hope shot up from the bed, her eyes flying open, her hands covering the scream that tore from her mouth. She couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t _breathe_ —then gasped, her entire body covered in sweat, her thin tank top clinging to her body, her lower belly still tingling with residual pain and heat. It was just a nightmare; one she’d had before. Several times.

But not in weeks.

She lowered her hands to her throat, feeling her pulse pound against her fingertips as she willed herself to calm, gazing around the room.

The other side of her bed was empty.

She opened her mouth to call for Seth, but her throat was on fire. She slid from the bed, padding into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She pounded the full glass, refilling it before heading to the living room.

Seth was asleep on the sofa, his hair tangled over his face, his feet propped on the opposite arm—it didn’t look comfortable. The living room blinds had been opened to let more air inside and cool the apartment, the night sky just beginning to lighten from navy to cobalt, birds singing from distant trees.

Hope didn’t have the heart to wake him, so she headed back into the bedroom and onto the balcony.

It faced west, so she couldn’t see the sunrise, but the air was still cool and fresh, drying the last of the sweat from her skin. She pressed against the rail, feeling the breeze on her back, along the back of her legs.

It must have been the eyes. Sarya’s eyes, so like _his_ , must’ve triggered the dream. She’d had it often the first couple of months after Lucifer had tried—and failed—to destroy Heaven. To destroy her.

Seth had killed him with Michael’s sword, Gloria. But not before Lucifer nearly killed her first.

After, She and Seth had gone up to the roof of the Hall of Healing to retrieve Lucifer’s body. But it wasn’t there, and Hope hadn’t been able bring herself to go up there again. Or to the lobby, where dozens—hundreds—of angels and demons had fought and bled and died. Even though she was supposed to be helping Gideon train new Nephilim.

Not that there were any new Nephilim to train. She’d spent the first month up there, sticking to her dorm room, to the kitchen/common room, teleporting to the training room rather than passing by the railing, to see the citrine walls and floor of the lobby.

Neither of them spent much time training; they didn’t have the heart for it. Besides, the main threat was gone. After Seth closed the portals, there were no demons on Earth to track, to hunt, to prevent from raising an army. In the past six months, only a handful of demons even made their way up, and Gideon was easily able to dispatch them alone.

Sarya was the first Nephilim either of them had found, the first neophyte since Raphael found Hope. She’d have to tell Gideon about her, get him to find a way to bring her up to train. But he could still probably handle her training on his own.

That lack of something, anything to do was what had driven her to go back to work, taking a casual position in the emergency room. There, she stuck to minor injuries for healing—ones which would be easy to dismiss, to cover up. She didn’t dare try to heal a major trauma; there were always way too many people present.

That and Azrael would’ve had her head.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Hope hadn’t heard Seth join her on the balcony; she was too wrapped up in her thoughts. He slid his hands around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Hope sighed. “I had the nightmare again.” She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to worry him. But she knew he would be able to tell once he saw her face, once he saw the deep shadows under her eyes she knew were there. He spun her to face him, sliding his hands up her arms to her shoulders, drawing her closer. His body was still warm from sleep—she didn’t even realize how cold she was until he wrapped his arms around her back.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his cheek against her head. “I was too restless so I moved to the couch. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s okay.” She leaned into him, letting his warmth, his body, comfort her. “You couldn’t have known.” She wanted to let it go, but she couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t not ask— “Did Lucifer have any children?”

Seth burst out laughing. “You’re kidding right? With how much he hated humans? There’s no chance.” Then he pulled away from her, his eyes like quicksilver as they searched her face. “Why do you ask?”

Hope opened her mouth to tell him about Sarya, but…something stopped her. Maybe she was wrong, and the girl’s eyes came from someone else, someone ordinary in her family tree. If Hope didn’t know, wasn’t sure, she was painting a target on Sarya’s back. Not that she thought Seth would go after her. But it would make her life, her training, that much more difficult.

“Just a weird random thought I had,” was all she said. Then smiled at him, heading back inside. “I’m going to make some coffee. Maybe we can have it in bed,” she called over her shoulder, the thin cotton shorts she wore fluttering out the door, landing right beside Seth’s feet. “Naked.”


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s been a number of deaths in Seattle. Six in the last two days alone," Azrael told Hope and Gideon.  
> “Seattle’s pretty big,” said Hope as she set her nearly empty water glass on the desk. “That doesn’t seem weird.”  
> Azrael nodded, frowning. “It wouldn’t be, but for the way these people died.” Then she pressed her lips together, barely suppressed amusement glinting in her violet eyes. “They were all…in the middle of intercourse when—”  
> “You’re saying they were all fucked to death?” Gideon interrupted, barely able to get the words before he started laughing, Hope spraying water on herself and the dark wood in front of her as she howled. They were both incapable of speech for a good minute, and each time one of them would start to calm down, they would look at the other, and burst out laughing again. Finally, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, Hope managed to turn her gaze to Azrael, deliberately avoiding Gideon’s eye.  
> “So, you want us to go down and see if there’s any connection—” Hope heard Gideon snort beside her “—between these deaths?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope comes back to Heaven, re-claiming the place where Lucifer nearly killed her. Then goes with Gideon to chat with Sarya's mom.  
> Then—she and Gideon get back to work, doing what they do best.

“Are you…reading my mom’s journals?” Hope asked Gideon as she crossed the kitchen to the TV area of the common room later that evening. She found him in one of the recliner chairs, draped like an overgrown teenager, his head resting against one plush maroon arm, his knees curled around the other, blue-suede-covered book in his hands. He leaned his head back, giving her an upside-down grin.

“Yup.” Placing the book face-down on the back of the chair, he slid his legs down from the arm, then stood. “Coffee?” he asked, brushing past her toward the kitchen, pulling the pot from the maker without waiting for her reply.

She didn’t bother to; he knew her well enough to know the answer. Instead, she perched on one of the stools at the large citrine island, resting her elbows on it as she watched him make the coffee.

“More,” she commanded as he added the grounds. He twisted his head just long enough to drop her a wink before he added another scoop. Once he pushed the button, he joined her at the island, his close-cropped golden curls framing his nearly-as-golden skin, his blue eyes dancing. “You cut your hair,” she murmured, stretching her fingers across the island as if to feel it, even though she couldn’t reach.

“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “It was getting in the way.”

Hope smirked. “Of what, exactly?”

Gideon dropped his eyes, his cheeks turning pink. “Training,” he said, but didn’t sound convincing.

Hope snorted, lifting her brow. He did look leaner though. More fit; the black t-shirt that was practically his uniform was snugger, especially around his— “Training for what?” she asked, resting her cheeks in her hands so he couldn’t see the flush that crept into them.

Gideon met her eyes again, looking…haunted. “Just…training. I needed to do something. Since. And with no Nephilim to train and hardly any demons to hunt…” His voice trailed off, and he didn’t say anything for a long moment. “It’s good to see you again,” he said softly.

Not waiting for her to respond, he bolted from the chair to see if the coffee was ready, taking longer than he should’ve to add sugar and milk to hers. By the time he returned, silently placing her cup before her, the look was gone.

Hope took a large sip. Maybe a change in subject would be good. “Did you find any pearls of wisdom in my mom’s journals?”

“Well, I found out why your mom named you Hope,” he said, his usual mischievous gleam back in his eyes.

Hope rolled her own eyes at him. “I could’ve told you that.” She took a huge swig of coffee. “It’s because when I was born, I was the embodiment of every hope she’d ever had.” She scowled at him and he burst out laughing. “I’ve always kind of hated my name, to be honest.”

“Why?” He tilted his head as he raised his own cup to his lips.

Hope sighed. “When I was younger, it was because I got teased about it so much. Got called ‘Hopeless’ and ‘our last Hope’,” she replied, her eyes losing focus as she thought back to elementary school. Fuck, kids were assholes. “Then, when I got older, I don’t know, maybe it’s because it’s just so corny.”

Gideon curled one side of his mouth up in a smile. “Preaching to the choir. You think my name was easy to live with? Especially in Southern California?”

“I guess not,” Hope conceded. “Any particular reason for your name?”

Gideon shrugged. “My mom thought hotel bibles were cool, I guess.”

Hope nearly spit out her coffee. But she managed to get it down. Just. “Jesus, we both got screwed, name-wise.”

Gideon snorted. “Do you have a middle name? You could’ve always used that.” He tipped his cup back to take a large sip.

“No, I couldn’t,” she deadpanned. “It’s Eunice.” Gideon choked on his coffee, spraying it across the island. It took a full minute before he looked like he could breathe properly.

“Yeah,” he rasped, sliding from his seat to grab a cloth from the sink behind him. “That’s worse.” He wiped the counter, his expression more serious. “But you’re wrong. About why she named you Hope.”

Hope widened her eyes, feeling a skeptical frown creep across her face. She couldn’t count the number of times her mom had told her that, until Hope became a teenager and begged her not to, because it was just _so_ dumb. “What did she write?” she asked softly.

“That her holy guardian angel, her HGA, bid her to.”

Hope snapped her eyes up to his, her half-empty cup sliding from her hands, spilling coffee across the counter. Gideon dove around it, leaning over her shoulder to clean up the spill before it could go anywhere else. Hope turned, staring at the scar that ran along the length of his jaw as he finished, then went back to the sink. Watched him as he rinsed the cloth out, hung it over the tap, then turned back to her. Waited until his eyes met hers before she spoke again.

“So Asmodeus asked her to name me Hope.” she bit out. “Whatever the fuck for?”

A glimmer of mirth stretched across his features. “Because you’re the embodiment of every hope _he’s_ ever had.”

“The fuck?” Hope slid off her chair, carrying her cup with her to refill it, leaning against the counter as she gulped the lukewarm coffee, not even bothering to add anything to it.

“It’s actually pretty funny when you consider it,” he said, turning to her, running his hand through his hair again, the short curls snapping back into place. “How everything turned out.”

Hope snorted without humor, dumping the rest of her cup in the sink. “It certainly worked out badly for him, didn’t it?” She met Gideon’s gaze. “But I didn’t come here to chit-chat, as delightful as it’s been. I have news.”

“Really?” He angled his head. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”

“I found a Nephilim.”

His brows shot up, then a slow, incredulous smile spread across his face. “Really.”

Hope nodded. “Her name is Sarya Singh. I think she’s about sixteen but she doesn’t seem to have any powers yet.”

“Then how did you find her?” he asked.

“She was hit by a car and ended up in emerg. I healed her, and I could _feel_ it. She felt…different.”

Gideon’s pale brows continued to reach toward his hairline. “You could sense her?”.

“Yes,” she answered, impatient. “But that’s not the important part. Her eyes—” Hope blinked her own closed, remembering the nightmare she’d had just this morning. “They were Lucifer’s.” She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his hands wrap around her upper arms.

He knew about her recurring nightmare of being stabbed—again—by Lucifer. About the one where she was trapped in the lobby of the Hall of Healing, paralyzed, while a horde of demons attacked, spilling rivers of golden blood everywhere.

About the reasons why she avoided coming back here at all.

He pulled her closer, the lemony laundry soap scent of his shirt warm, comforting. “I think it’s time,” he said softly, his cheek resting on her head. She pulled back, tilting her face to meet his.

“Time for what?”

“For you to face your fear.” He slid his hands down her arms, grasping her fingers in his. Then there was a rush of wind, too brief for Hope to understand at first. And then they were standing on the roof of the Hall of Healing, the tip of the spire at Hope’s back.

“No,” breathed Hope, backing up, back, back, until she was pressed against the citrine, the darkening sky filling her vision. Almost against her will she looked down at the spot where she’d been stabbed, where Seth had killed Lucifer. She could almost see, in the dimming light, the reflection of his shimmering blood against the stone, her own red blood drying beside it. But of course it wasn’t there. It had been washed away months ago.

“It’s too soon,” she said, shutting her eyes against the vision, her knees buckling until she sprawled on the ground, her head in her hands. She couldn’t breathe, she was drowning, there wasn’t enough air. She clutched her hand to her chest, willing it to rise and fall, rise and fall.

Then Gideon was holding both her hands in his, the pad of his thumbs pressed against the pounding pulses at her wrists, willing it to slow, to steady. “Do you remember,” he whispered, his words nearly lost on the cool night breeze, “the first time I brought you up here?”

Hope nodded, feeling her breathing grow more even as she remembered their race to the top, the view that met her once she reached it, and…all the times they spent up here, together, becoming friends. Partners.

He taught her how to accept her powers, how to be _more_ , even when she learned about the demon-blood coursing through her body. And she helped him grieve for his partner and lover, Glenda.

This was _their_ spot, _their_ refuge. She _couldn’t_ let Lucifer take that away.

She lifted her head to meet Gideon’s gaze, her fear evaporating as anger took over. “I won’t let him win,” she breathed, clutching Gideon’s hands, feeling his fingers squeeze hers in response. “He’s dead. He needs to stay that way.” She let him pull her up and into his arms, gazing over his shoulder, his shorter hair now tickling her cheek as she watched the moon rise. “He can’t do anything to me now.”

Gideon’s arms tightened, briefly, before he released her, a mixture of sadness and relief on his face. “Welcome home, Hope.”

She smiled at him, surprised at the sudden prick of tears to her eyes at those words.

“Now,” he said, towing her toward the ramp to head back down and inside. “Tell me more about this girl.”

#

The next morning, Hope and Gideon stood on the sidewalk in front of Sarya’s house, an old Oak Bay character home that looked like it had been transformed into suites. Hope had stolen the address from Sarya’s chart after she left with her mom, after Hope had promised they’d come for her.

“Does this actually work?” she asked him as she stared up at the house. At the olive-green wood siding covering the bottom half and pale-yellow stucco covering the top half, at the contrasting paneling around the large windows. And at the steep staircase leading to the main door on the left side.

And then at the immaculate yard, with a tiny walled-off garden area to the right. It probably cost more to live here than Hope made in a month working full-time.

Gideon shrugged, glancing over at her. And damn, did he look good in a suit. “Raphael’s done it before when he didn’t think the truth would go over well. And from what you told me about Sarya’s mom, she doesn’t seem the most receptive person on Earth.” He winked at her, then headed toward the stairs.

Hope rolled her eyes as she followed him. “Wait, he told some parents the truth?”

She couldn’t imagine. Her mother would never have let her go, had been so suffocatingly protective…because she had seen what Hope could do with her own eyes. So maybe if Raphael _had_ found Hope when she was younger—only it didn’t matter, not really. Because she _wasn’t_ Nephilim, even if everyone treated her like one. Even if she sometimes forgot herself.

She grabbed Gideon’s arm just as he began to mount the steps. “I’ll wait here. Sarya’s mom’s seen me before. At the hospital. She’ll know something’s up if I’m there.” Gideon nodded, and Hope released him, darting to the side of the house, where she wouldn’t be seen.

And then waited. For what seemed like forever. Hope tried to pass the time by scrolling through Instagram and Twitter but she didn’t see more than half of what went by. She kept glancing up to the time at the top of her phone. The longer Gideon took, the more Hope was convinced he was going to fail. It was such a long shot, convincing Sarya’s mom that there was some special school that Sarya somehow gained entry to.

Hope couldn’t help but think about Hogwarts and just how ridiculous the notion was in the real world.

But then, finally, she heard footsteps on the stairs outside and she came out from her hiding spot. Gideon’s expression gave nothing away. He just looked thoughtful, and Hope’s heart sank.

“Did she buy it?” She asked, her heart in her throat. She had a bad feeling about this. Wouldn’t Gideon look happier if—

He grinned at her. “Like she was lost in the desert and I was selling her an oasis.”

#

Hope frowned at the dummy on the other side of the training room, at the bullseye in the middle of its hay-filled chest—and at the smattering of arrows on its neck, shoulder, and forehead. And the ones strewn along the hardwood floor behind it.

“Jesus, Gideon, I knew I was rusty, but this is _bad_.” She whirled to face him, lounging in a wooden chair just in front of the large antique armoire that served as the weapons arsenal. He wore a smug smile, his eyes lazily wandering over the lack of carnage.

“You should have spent more time training.” He crossed his arms, leaning even further back. “I guess I’ll have to be in charge of teaching Sarya archery.”

Hope snorted. “As if there was any doubt.” She stalked to the dummy, yanking out the arrows, scooping the others off the floor, thrusting them into the quiver over her shoulder as she returned to her spot. Before she picked up the bow again, she reached into a pocket, pulling out a hair elastic and shoving her hair back from her face, already slick with sweat. She wiped her forehead as she bent to grab the bow, her eyes stinging.

She took a deep breath, exhaling forcefully through her nose, squaring her shoulders, planting her feet the way Gideon had shown her. Or at least she thought she did. But a moment later, she felt his foot slide against hers, pushing it a tiny bit further out to the side. He reached into the quiver and handed her an arrow, waiting until she nocked it to guide the bow to the target, his hands covering hers. His face was right behind hers, his breath tickling her neck as he shifted, drawing her arm further back to pull the string tighter, making minute adjustments to her aim.

“Now,” he said. She let the arrow fly, goosebumps raising along her arms, prickling her neck as it flew, landing right in the center of the target. “You felt that?”

Hope nodded, unable to say anything, her face growing warm as he dropped his hands. “Then you remember how to hold the bow, how to angle your body.” He stepped away, and Hope felt cool air at her back as she angled her head just enough to watch him stride back to the chair and drop into it, legs splayed in front of him, lips curled in a taunting smile. “Do it again.”

Hope snatched another arrow from the quiver, willing her upper body to relax, trying to mimic the stance she’d just been in, to ignore the feel of his eyes on her back. She eyed the target, raising the bow and pulling the string back tighter, tighter. She loosed the arrow, watching it sail in a long arc before thudding into the target, right next to the first one.

“Good,” he said from behind her. “Again.” She wouldn’t look at him, not wanting to take her eyes off the target as she reached back for another arrow.

“Hope. Gideon.” An accented female voice. They both whirled at it, toward the training room door. Azrael. She stood just inside, her long, thick dark hair braided around her head and down her back, her violet eyes gazing into Hope’s. She wore a scarlet dress that fit each curve perfectly, the color complimenting her olive-beige skin. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Hope flushed again, dropping the bow, sliding the quiver off her back as she headed toward Azrael, Gideon sliding from the chair to join her.

“What’s up?” He asked, furrowing his brow, his eyes looking just a bit darker than their usual bright blue.

“I need you to investigate something for me,” Azrael said, giving Hope another sidelong glance. “Perhaps we can speak in my office? Give you a chance to freshen up.”

Hope’s face burned as she wiped the damp tendrils of hair from her forehead, glancing quickly at Gideon.

He winked at her, lips twitching. Damn him. “We’ll be there in five minutes,” he said, sailing past them both and out the door.

Hope watched him leave, then gazed back at Azrael, who lowered her head at her, raising her brow, frowning in something that looked a lot like disapproval.

“ _Did_ I interrupt something?” she asked softly.

Hope shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Of course not. We were just messing around.” She made her way to the door, but just as she reached for the handle, Azrael spoke from behind her.

“I’m not judging. Just…please don’t hurt Sammy.” Hope turned, gazing at Azrael. Felt her stomach clench at the softness in those eyes.

“I won’t,” Hope said, not even sure it was loud enough for Azrael to hear. But Azrael nodded at her, and gave her a smile that could almost be called soft.

Hope spun back around, jerked open and the handle and stalked out, and if anyone asked her, she wouldn’t even be able to tell them why she felt—guilty.

#

“Okay, now that we’ve freshened up,” Gideon said, glancing at Hope, “what do you need us to do?”

Hope had just enough time to change her clothes and throw on some deodorant, her skin and hair still damp with sweat. She chugged the water in the glass in front of her, then nodded as Azrael reached forward with the glass carafe to refill it.

Once Azrael was done, she sat back, tenting her fingers under her chin. “There’s been a number of deaths in Seattle. Six in the last two days alone.”

“Seattle’s pretty big,” said Hope as she set her nearly empty glass on the desk. “That doesn’t seem weird.”

Azrael nodded, frowning. “It wouldn’t be, but for the way these people died.” Then she pressed her lips together, barely suppressed amusement glinting in her violet eyes. “They were all…in the middle of intercourse when—”

“You’re saying they were all fucked to death?” Gideon interrupted, barely able to get the words out before he started laughing, Hope spraying water on herself and the dark wood in front of her as she howled. They were both incapable of speech for a good minute, and each time one of them would start to calm down, they would look at the other, and burst out laughing again. Finally, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, Hope managed to turn her gaze to Azrael, deliberately avoiding Gideon’s eye.

“So, you want us to go down and see if there’s any connection—” Hope heard Gideon snort beside her “—between these deaths?” She rolled her eyes at Azrael, twisting her face into mock-exasperation. “You see what I have to deal with?”

Azrael’s eyes still glinted with mirth, but she looked otherwise composed. “Find out what you can. Sammy has been pretty good with controlling demonic activity on Earth, but we can’t be too careful.” She leaned back in her chair. “It could be a love spell gone wrong, but—”

“Wait, what?” Hope asked. “Those things actually work?”

“Yes. And no.” Azrael’s face grew solemn. “Mortals do not possess the power to manipulate the natural order of things on their own. They would normally have to get the help of a demon, usually through some sort of summoning ritual. But there is always a cost, a consequence. Love spells rarely work out the way the person intended, especially if they involve taking another’s free will.”

“Jesus.” Hope fell back in her chair, stealing a glance at Gideon. “Okay, so I guess we _are_ looking for a demon, then.”

Azrael nodded. “And likely a powerful one.” Hope opened her mouth to speak, but Azrael cut her off, flashing a brief smile. “I already asked him, and he doesn’t know anything about it.”

“Okay.” Gideon bolted from his chair, offering Hope his hand. She grasped it as she stood, her own grin matching his, surprised by how excited she was at the prospect of demon-hunting.

Her hand twitched at her hip, reaching for the angel blade that wasn’t there. That hadn’t been there for months.

Gideon caught the movement, his eyes crinkling as they met hers. “Let’s get you armed up.”

#

“This doesn’t look anything like how it looks on TV,” Gideon said as they swung open the door of the morgue at Virginia Mason Hospital in downtown Seattle.

Hope snorted, still feeling a twinge of guilt about how they got in. She’d worn scrubs to get behind the nurses’ desk, then swiped someone’s ID card sitting near one of the computer stations. Honestly, she was surprised nobody noticed that the face on the card decidedly did not match her own. Unless she’d magically transformed into an older Philippino woman named Grace Torres.

But Gideon was right. The morgue did look much different than those on TV. It was much cleaner, for one, the metal tables and floor beneath pristine, the bright, fluorescent lights overhead casting no shadows. Only a few medical tools sat on the short, narrow counter, and those were still wrapped in autoclave packaging. The place was also tiny; there was barely room for one person to maneuver around the tables, which would need to be rolled aside to even open the half-dozen drawers set into the far wall.

Gideon headed toward the tables, but Hope reached out a hand to stop him. “We don’t need to see them. If they’re still here—” she snapped her head to her right, to the small desk, jerking her thumb to the laptop computer sitting on top of it “—their reports will be in there.” She made her way over, perching on the stool, tapping the track pad to wake up the computer.

The last user, presumably the coroner, had let the computer automatically sign them out because their username was still displayed. But Hope needed a password. Damn it. She glanced around, but there was nothing personal, nothing that would give her a hint. So, she started rifling through the drawers, pulling the long narrow one in front of her open first.

She was in luck.

Sitting right in the middle was a faded, crinkled sticky-paper, with only one word written on it: UptownFunk27. At least it looked like a twenty-seven; that part had been written over so many times it was hard for Hope to tell for sure. She closed the drawer, then tried the password. It was wrong. Maybe they had changed the number recently, so she tried UptownFunk28.

Also wrong.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered, her fingers hovering over the keys. Most programs only allowed three tries before locking out. She only had one more shot.

“What’s wrong?” Gideon walked over to her, bending down to look over her shoulder. Hope didn’t even think he’d heard her.

She didn’t answer, but yanked the drawer back open, handing the square of paper to him. “What does that say to you?” She rolled the stool away, turning so she could see Gideon as he squinted at the paper.

“Uh, UptownFunk twenty…something.” He brought the paper closer, scowling at it. “Seven? Eight? I can’t tell.” He reached to give it back to her, one side of his lip curling up. “But the dude has terrible taste in music.”

Hope rolled her eyes and snorted, but she returned to the laptop, her hands shaking as she stared at the screen. Then typed. UptownFunk29.

No dice.

She was locked out.

“Motherfucker!” She shoved away from the desk, nearly knocking Gideon over with the stool, the ID tag flying off her scrub top pocket.

Wait.

She lunged for the card, scrambling back onto the stool, reaching for the phone. If this hospital used the same system as hers, Grace’s username would be her first initial and her last name. And with her employee number, Hope could call IT and reset her password.

She was in.

#

“Tyler Maison, aged thirty-five—Christ, he was _young_.” She scanned the screen, her eyes growing wide as Gideon read over her shoulder.

“It says he died from autoerotic asphyxiation,” Gideon said, and Hope could feel the smirk sliding across his lips, could see the practically see his eyes gleaming. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yup,” she said, not elaborating as she glanced at the top of the page. “He’s in the first drawer.” She pushed the stool back as she stood, then pulled on a pair of blue exam gloves. “Guess we’ll be checking him out after all.” She crossed the small, narrow room, wheeling one of the metal tables against the other to access the drawer, slowly pulling it out and drawing the sheet to his waist. Her eyes slid over the face, covered in petechiae, taking in the purple-blue bruise ringing his neck, and the pale, doughy flesh of his chest and belly. She glanced further along his body, at the position of the body’s right hand, the lump beneath it under the sheet.

Gideon whistled at her side. “The poor bastard didn’t even get to finish.”

Hope knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help the peal of laughter that burst from her mouth. With an effort, she composed herself, trying to focus, to see if there was any other clue on his body, any sign of a demon or possession, but there was nothing. She snapped the sheet back over the corpse, slamming the drawer closed before pulling her gloves off.

“Well, it looks like a dead end with this one,” she said, sighing. “Let’s see if any of the others are here.” She turned to head back to the desk, but Gideon had already opened the drawer right below Tyler’s, pulling back the sheet with his bare hand. Hope snatched his hand away, thrusting a pair of gloves in it.

“Ha ha, you said ‘dead end’,” he said, pulling the gloves on, his eyes sparkling.

“Jesus, Gideon, I can’t take you anywhere.” But she smiled as she pulled a fresh pair of gloves on, glancing along the body. Then frowned, pulling the sheet down further. There wasn’t a mark, any hint of how this one—a middle-aged woman, by her looks—died. “There’s nothing here.”

Gideon crossed the room, bending over the computer, his hand roving over the track pad, clicking the bottom buttons a couple of times. Then he burst out laughing.

Hope frowned at him as she walked over, hip checking him as she scanned the page. “Jennifer Gibson, aged 43. The cause of death is unknown. I don’t see what’s so—oh”. The woman’s vaginal vault was intact, no sign of sexual assault, but— “She had a thousand-fold increase in dopamine and oxytocin in her bloodstream. She orgasmed to death.” She sighed, fighting the upward twitch of her lips. “But still no way of knowing what’s behind it.”

“Uh, maybe this’ll help.” While Hope read the report, Gideon rummaged around in a cupboard, pulling out a large plastic bag, full of Tyler’s things—his clothes, his wallet, his phone. It was an older model, one that didn’t require a password. And the idiot didn’t bother setting one. Gideon scrolled through it, thumbing through apps as he walked back to Hope. She leaned to watch him pull up YouTube, and the screen was filled with video links from some sort of sex therapist named Lillian Barnes. He clicked onto her page, a list of dates at the top of her bio; she must be on some sort of tour.

And her latest stop was in Seattle, two days ago.

“That cannot possibly be a coincidence,” Gideon said, clicking one of the links to open a video. He turned the phone sideways, cranking the volume while Hope squeezed in closer to watch.

“ _Hello, my darlings_ ,” drawled a woman on the screen. Lillian Barnes. She was stunning, maybe the most beautiful woman Hope had ever seen, even after Azrael. Her perfectly wavy auburn hair swung across her shoulders, lifted by some invisible wind, her flawless creamy skin seemingly lit from within, her eyes the color of spring moss. And she had the most unreal set of breasts, spilling over her form-fitting V-neck blouse.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gideon swore softly. “She can’t possibly be real.”

“ _Today we’re going to talk more about expressing our sexuality, a perfectly natural and normal process—_ ” Hope tapped the phone, pausing the video, her face on fire as she glanced at Gideon.

His eyes were glassy, his face flushed; Hope had never seen him that way before. Then he bit his bottom lip and Hope _felt_ it, a lash of white heat searing down her spine. And lower.

She jumped away from him, letting go of the phone so he wouldn’t see her reaction. “We need to find her,” she said, mentally shaking out her body, forcing it to relax, willing her face to cool. “Can you look and see where the next stop is?”

“Huh?”

She dared a sideways glance to see him jerk out of his trance; his expression would’ve made her laugh if she wasn’t so thrown.

“Just a sec,” Gideon said, and then she heard him tap on the screen. “It’s Saturday at seven o’clock. In Vancouver.”

“I hope your schedule’s free,” she said, heading for the door, still not looking at him.

#

“Jason Butcher.”

He turned at the voice, unfamiliar but pleasing. Cultured. Not a voice he usually heard in a dive like this. It sounded like music. Belonging to the hottest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. A redhead with moss-green eyes. Skin that looked like freshly poured cream, just a hint of color to her cheeks. And her tits—

“That’s me,” he replied, turning back to his drink. “But it’s a pretty common name.” She must be looking for someone else, not him. No one that beautiful was _ever_ looking for him.

“I want _you_ ,” she said, perching on the barstool beside him. She didn’t need to get the bartender’s attention; she already had it by the time she sat. “Vodka. Rocks.”

The redhead turned back to Jason. “I understand you’re in a certain…line of work.”

Jason leaned back in his stool. He should’ve known. “I don’t do spouses. Too messy.”

“I’m not married.” She crossed her legs, leaning her elbow on the bar to rest her head. Her hair spilled over the scratched, stained wood but she didn’t seem to care. With her other hand, she reached for his drink, raised a brow. Jason nodded, unable to tear his eyes from hers as she lifted the glass to her full red lips.

This woman was big trouble. And he didn’t like trouble. But she looked like she could pay, and he needed the cash. He silently swore to himself, dragging his gaze away. “Fine.” He snatched the glass back, downing the rest in one. Slapped it on the table twice—the bartender filled it as she set the other drink down. “Who, then?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment,” the woman said, reaching for her own drink. She lifted it, wrinkled her nose, then replaced it. “How do you feel about bargains, Jason?” Sliding forward in her seat, she ran a long, slender finger down his arm, one side of her mouth curving in a smile, sharp as a knife’s edge.

“Depends on the bargain, I guess.” The path along his arm burned in the wake of her touch and he was instantly hard. He shifted in his seat. “What do you propose?”

“This.” Out of nowhere, she opened her hand, revealing a silver ring with a large red stone set in it. It didn’t look like ruby; it was darker, denser. “It’s garnet. Antique. And worth more than you probably made last year.”

Jason gazed at the ring skeptically. “I take cash only.”

The woman slid off the stool entirely, reaching for his hand, placing the ring in his palm. Closed her fingers around it, moving closer, reaching for the back of his neck. Jason felt his heart hammer against his ribs as she brought her face up into his, her muted green eyes wide.

“Are you sure? Perhaps we could take the rest…in trade?” She was close enough to kiss him, her whispered breath like a caress. Jason found himself nodding, almost against his will. “Just say the word, and we have a deal.”

“Yes,” his lips formed it, but he couldn’t get his voice to follow.

Apparently it was good enough because she closed the distance, brushing his lips with hers. At the same time, he felt her open his hand, the warm metal of the ring sliding along his finger.

A moment later, a white-hot bolt of energy surged through his body—at first, he thought he was coming. But this was stronger, more intense than any orgasm he’d ever had.

His last thought before his world went dark: he hadn’t even asked the woman her name.


	3. It Costs Extra for the Freaky Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey gorgeous, looking for some company?” The boy looked young, no older than sixteen or seventeen, but those eyes, glinting in the dim light as he curled his body around one of the pier’s supports—  
> They had seen some serious shit.  
> Gideon stepped toward him, slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching an easily spooked horse. “I am,” he said, keeping his voice calm, quiet. “But not in the way you think.”  
> “It costs extra for freaky stuff,” the boy snapped, looking wary. Still, he unwrapped himself from the pole, approaching Gideon, his lips curling in a loaded smile, cocking a single brow.  
> Gideon threw his hands up between them as he backed away. “I’m not here for that.” Best to get that out of the way right now. He took a deep breath, trying another tack. “My name is Gideon. I am here to find you. To train you, if you’re interested.”  
> “Train me? That sounds like some messed-up daddy bullshit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope stumbles on a very unpleasant crime scene.  
> Then she and Gideon learn there is _another_ Nephilim.  
> While Hope reports back to Azrael, Gideon goes to meet him. And gets much more than he bargained for.  
> \-------------------------------------------  
> Okay, a couple of content warnings for this chapter:  
> 1\. The first scene contains a pretty graphic description of a murder scene on a hot, humid summer day. So not recommended reading while you're eating (or for those with delicate stomachs).  
> 2\. There is referenced underaged prostitution even though the character is _not_ a prostitute. He uses it as cover for his pickpocketing. But I don't want anyone getting creeped out by it.

The minute they left the morgue, Gideon teleported back to the Hall. And Hope meant to just stop to return the ID badge before following him—until she changed her mind.

Instead, she took a cab to Jennifer Gibson’s apartment on Capitol Hill, cursing how long it took to drive the entire way. But she’d only been to Seattle a handful of times, not nearly enough to teleport anywhere with any accuracy, except maybe Pike Place Market.

Then they finally arrived. Hope tossed the cabbie a handful of bills, probably way too much, but she didn’t care. Then dashed to the main entrance, scanning the panel until she found the name Gibson. On the seventh floor.

So much for sneaking in.

She pressed the buzzer and waited, tapping her fingers against the bronze panel. No answer. She tried again, her foot tapping along with her fingers, growing antsier by the second. She didn’t even know why she was so nervous; she just had a bad feeling. And she knew well enough to trust it.

When there was still no response, Hope leaned against the glass of the door, peering inside to see if there was anyone there. The lobby was empty, so Hope teleported inside, feeling only slightly guilty, kind of like she was cheating. But it wasn’t enough to stop her.

She grabbed the elevator to the seventh floor, stopping outside unit seven-ten. Although she knew she wouldn’t get an answer, she rapped twice on the door, looking down both sides of the hallway as she did. She didn’t even wait a reasonable amount of time before she placed her fingers on the deadbolt, focusing on it, smiling slightly at the snap of the tumblers shifting inside.

The smell hit her the moment she opened the door, the sharp reek of dead, rotting flesh. Hope clamped her hands over her mouth and nose, swallowing down the swift rise of nausea at her throat as she stepped inside. The air in the apartment was hot and close, no movement, no fan or air conditioner running. Sweat immediately streaked down her neck and back, beading on her temples and the side of her face, but she didn’t dare remove her hands to wipe it away. Instead, she crept along the narrow entryway, suffocating as she tried to take shallow breaths of the thick, putrid air through her covered mouth.

The first room she encountered was a small bedroom at the end of the hall. Nothing inside but a double bed, neatly made; a tall, walnut dresser tucked into a corner beside a pair of closet doors; and a matching end table on the far wall. It must be the guest room. She turned right into the main living space, but it was also clear, with minimal furnishings. Only a sleek dark gray leather sofa and an equally gray steel coffee table adorned one half, with a matching round table and barstools in the kitchen on the other side. Filled with gleaming, fingerprint-free stainless appliances. Of course. The smell was stronger here though, coming from the short hallway on the other side of the room. Fighting every instinct to leave, she headed for it, turning into the room on her left.

He was there. Lying on the king-sized bed covered in rich white linens. Or at least, they used to be white. The body atop them was mottled gray, bloated, and stark naked. Hands and ankles tied to each post of the bed with different-colored striped ties.

Hope shuddered, actively fighting her nausea, willing the contents of her stomach to stay put as she forced herself to get closer. His eyes were closed, his pasty lips curved in a broad smile.

She took one more shallow breath, then held it as she removed her hands from her face, feeling for the spare pair of gloves she had stored in her top. Sweat streamed along her entire body, her scrubs sticking to her, the band of her bra damp and rubbing her skin raw.

Once Hope managed to get the gloves on—they got caught on her sweat-damp hands—she bent down, crouching beside the man’s clothes on the floor, digging through the jean pockets until she found a wallet and phone.

Ryan Gibson. Jennifer’s husband. The driver’s license confirmed it. Although Hope was no medical examiner, she figured he could easily have been here for the two days since his wife had been found dead. But why wasn’t he discovered with her?

Hope leaned back, sitting down hard on the hardwood floor, realization flooding through her.

It was because they weren’t together when they died.

They were with other people. Which meant there were either two more victims, or two witnesses. Or a serial killer.

She tapped the home button on his phone, hitting the ‘emergency’ on the screen, dialing 911 before she tossed the phone onto the bed and sprang up, teleporting from the apartment before the police could arrive, not bothering to close the front door.

#

“I found another one.” Gideon startled at the sound of Hope’s voice the next evening, throwing knife poised in his right hand, training dummy waiting to be impaled on the other side of the training room. His back was to her but Hope could see, through the mirrored wall on her right, the flush of color creep along his cheeks as he stiffened. He stood motionless for a long moment, not appearing to breathe, then he flung his arm forward, the knife sailing through the air.

It bounced off the white plaster wall behind the dummy, then clattered to the hardwood floor.

Hope felt her eyes go wide as she bit the inside of her lip. She had never seen Gideon miss a target. Ever.

“Another what?” He asked, a note of strain belying the casualness of his question as he strode forward, gracefully tipping his upper body forward on one leg to snatch the knife from the floor, like a flamingo dipping its head. By the time he pivoted his foot and straightened, his face looked normal, the high color gone, a sheepish smile on his face. “Of course you would be here to see that,” he muttered.

“See what?” Hope pasted an innocent expression on her face, but her lips were curling in an answering smile.

“Exactly.” He strode to her, running a hand through his short curls, cocking his head. “Another what?” he repeated.

Hope’s smile died. “Another body. Jennifer’s husband. He was in their apartment.” She felt her own face flush. “He was…tied up.”

Gideon snorted.

“Literally.”

Gideon burst out laughing. Once he calmed down, he turned back to the dummy. “Along with the two couples who died from heart attacks, that makes the total seven, not six,” he said, planting his feet, squinting at the target as he made minute adjustments to his body, raising the knife once more. “That we know of.”

“Yeah. We should probably find Azrael and tell her what we learned. Especially since the couples don’t seem to know each other. Their deaths don’t _seem_ related—” Hope cut herself off, mesmerized at the sheer concentration on Gideon’s face, not even sure he heard her. But he nodded slightly, still focused on the target. Then in a swift, clean movement, he threw his body forward, the knife flying from his fingers before turning over once, twice.

Then embedding itself in the dead center of the target.

Hope loosed the breath she’d been holding as the blade sunk in, relaxing her shoulders. Only she must have been noisier than she thought because Gideon turned his head to flash her a brief grin as he stalked forward to retrieve the blade again.

“Hope. Gideon.” They both spun toward the door of the training room to see Raphael standing just inside it. He gave them both a slight smile that didn’t _quite_ reach his eyes.

Gideon sprang up from his crouch beside the training dummy, joining Hope just as she reached Raphael, giving him an expectant look.

Hope hadn’t seen much of Raphael, not like before. When he was her trainer. And mentor. Not after he became Archangel of Wisdom. And it wasn’t like she really needed him like she did before but…she missed him. And the permanent stick up his ass. She felt her lips lift at the image but pressed them together at his disapproving frown.

Then his expression changed, becoming unreadable.

“I have found another.” Hope’s heart sank as she met Gideon’s eye, both of their expressions growing grim. Not more dead bodies.

Hope closed her eyes, dropping her head as she heard Gideon’s soft voice beside her.

“Another what?”

“Another Nephilim.” As one, their heads snapped up, stunned.

“You mean besides Sarya.” Gideon said. Hope knew they had discussed her, who she might be, what it might mean to bring her here to train.

Raphael nodded. “Did you not sense him?” he asked Gideon, looking troubled.

Gideon started to shake his head, but then paused, slumping forward a bit, rolling his eyes.

“Is that what that was?” He turned his gaze toward Raphael, dubious. Then, reluctantly, he turned to Hope. “I felt this…I don’t even know how to describe it. Like when you know you’re forgetting something, but you can’t remember what it is?” He frowned, like that didn’t explain it quite right. “It’s a bit like that. Like…a pull. A tug. Not strong, but you can’t ignore it.”

Hope kept his gaze, his bright blue eyes boring into hers like he trying to get her to understand by sheer force of will. And she did. It was the same feeling she had when she healed Sarya, that same…tug. Like pulling back on a sheet covering an old antique piece of furniture and discovering the treasure underneath. She smiled, wanting him to know she understood, that she knew the feeling.

He grinned back, then turned to face Raphael again.

“I’m on it.” And then Gideon vanished.

#

Azrael frowned once Hope finished speaking, laying her palms flat against the dark wood of her desk. “This is troubling. Because if those two died separately, but were with someone at the time—”

“Well, she _could_ have been alone. And that guy could have died…after.” Hope paused, practically hearing the smartassed comment Gideon would have made if he was here. She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. “But it’s probably safe to assume someone knew about at least one of them. And didn’t do anything about it.” She blew out a breath, shifting her gaze from Azrael to Gabriel, who sat in the chair to her left.

They both frowned, their eyes locked on each other. A long silence fell over the room, and Hope found herself quietly tapping her fingers against her leg, reluctant to be the one to break it.

“Or maybe they were the ones who killed them,” Gabriel finally said. She shook her head, her tight dark curls haloing her brown face, her ice-blue eyes troubled. But her words did nothing to ease the tension of the room.

“Hope, when you and Gideon were in Seattle, were you able to find any link between the deaths?” Azrael asked. Hope felt her face grow hot.

“Maybe? I don’t know. On Tyler’s phone—the one who, you know—” Hope put her hands to her throat and Gabriel made a strangled noise in her throat, which she quickly cut off under Azrael’s quelling gaze. Hope felt her lips twitch; she looked down at her feet to regain her composure. “There was a video. By some sort of sex therapist named Lillian Barnes. She was there for a live seminar a couple of days ago. Right before people started dying.”

“So maybe she’s possessed?” asked Gabriel, still trying to suppress her laughter. “Demons have been known to have—relations with humans before killing them.”

“Yes, but it’s usually personal.” The voice—coming from just behind Hope’s chair—made her startle, her head whirling to the source. Seth flashed her a quick smile before turning back to Azrael, his hands sliding to Hope’s shoulders. “You said there didn’t seem to be any link between these people before they died.”

“And I believe you mentioned there haven’t been any rogue demons in quite some time,” Azrael reminded him, pressing her long, slender fingers to her head, kneading her temples.

“Asmodeus may have had his faults—” Seth smirked, squeezing Hope’s shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the base of her neck “—but his lieutenants—mine now—are well-trained. After the last…incident a few months ago, they used it as a teaching opportunity, showing the others what happens to demons who don’t stay put. It was very effective,” he finished, giving Gabriel a look.

“It _is_ possible a mortal is behind the deaths,” said Azrael, tenting her fingers under her chin. “Humans are more than capable of murder all on their own.”

“But it’s the way they died,” Hope said quietly. Too quietly. Azrael looked like she was straining to hear her. Hope cleared her throat, feeling a flush creep up her neck, heating her cheeks, making her eyes burn.

Seth brought his hands closer, gently squeezing the muscles along the back of her neck.

“The cause of death on Jennifer’s Gibson’s autopsy report. It wasn’t normal. And Jennifer’s husband—I admit it was a bit _CSI Miami_ —” both Gabriel and Azrael looked puzzled. She rolled her eyes and continued. “It’s cliché, something that seems to happen all the time, getting murdered while tied to a bed.” She paused, remembering the bloated, putrid body laid out on the bed, the reek of decay which hung in the arid room like a thick cloud, and—

He didn’t look afraid,” she said, picturing his face in her mind. It was mottled, the cheeks beginning to sink into the skull, eyes closed. With a smile on his face that could only be described as…sated. “If someone was killing him, he would have looked terrified. Would have _been_ terrified. But he wasn’t.” She swallowed, feeling a bit queasy. “He…enjoyed whatever was being done to him. In the end.”

Seth’s dropped his hands. Hope whipped her around but he just hitched his brows, lifting his head to Azrael.

“So…who then?” Gabriel asked.

“Perhaps when Gideon returns,” Azrael said, giving Hope a tight smile, “you and he could return to Seattle. Maybe you can find out more—”

Azrael shot out of her seat, her eyes widening, her lips falling open in shock. She turned to Hope, who felt her heart seize.

“It’s Gideon. He needs help. Now.”

#

The flashing lights and blaring sounds of Pacific Park assaulted Gideon’s senses as he landed on Santa Monica Pier, the sky overhead dark, the stars invisible, overwhelmed by light pollution. Even at night, the place was crowded, couples and families strolling in pairs and groups, phone cameras flashing, voices everywhere.

The Nephilim was close, but Gideon had trouble sensing him, nearly overcome by the stimuli battling for his attention. He needed to find somewhere less crowded, less noisy. Less distracting. Not bothering to look for a set of stairs, he climbed the metal rail on the side of the pier, jumping to the sand below.

That was better.

Now that he could concentrate—could actually think—he closed his eyes, focusing on re-establishing the link, on feeling that tug that would lead him to the Nephilim.

But the Nephilim found him.

“Hey gorgeous, looking for some company?” The boy looked young, no older than sixteen or seventeen, but those eyes, glinting in the dim light as he curled his body around one of the pier’s supports—

They had seen some serious shit.

Gideon stepped toward him, slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching an easily spooked horse. “I am,” he said, keeping his voice calm, quiet. “But not in the way you think.”

“It costs extra for freaky stuff,” the boy snapped, looking wary. Still, he unwrapped himself from the pole, approaching Gideon, his lips curling in a loaded smile, cocking a single brow.

Gideon threw his hands up between them as he backed away. “I’m not here for that.” Best to get that out of the way right now. He took a deep breath, trying another tack. “My name is Gideon. I am here to find you. To train you, if you’re interested.”

“Train me? That sounds like some messed-up daddy bullshit.” The boy’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t move, didn’t leave.

Gideon barked out a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

What had this kid been through?

“You’re probably not going to believe me, especially with what you’ve clearly seen, but I’m Nephilim. Part angel. I have special abilities. I’m stronger and faster than regular people.” He chanced a step forward again, hands up, palms facing out. “And so are you.”

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, just for a fleeting moment before returning to their now-customary glower. He opened his mouth, started to say something a couple of times before he finally crossed his arms across his chest. “Prove it.”

Gideon looked around to see if anyone else was around, if anyone would be able to see what he was about to do.

They were alone.

He teleported behind the boy, blending into the shadows underneath the pier.

Then watched the back of the kid’s head snap back and forth as he looked for him, swearing softly; Gideon pressed his lips together to keep from laughing out loud as he crept up to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The kid whirled to face him, face pale, eyes wide. This close, Gideon could see they were pale blue, almost silver, contrasting starkly with the midnight-black hair that swung into his face. He was thin, too thin, had obviously been fending for himself for a while. But his clothes, while worn, were clean. So at least he wasn’t homeless.

“Just…hear me out. Hear my offer. If you’re not interested, you can leave. But if you are…”

The boy still looked wary. But he nodded, turning to walk along the sand glowing softly from the lights of the pier, Gideon following. “Can you at least tell me your name?” he asked, as he caught up, matching his stride with the kid’s.

“Dominic.”

By the stony look on his face, Gideon knew he wasn’t getting a last name. “Okay, Dominic—”

There was a noise, coming from the pier above them. Shouting. Then swearing. Then a gunshot.

“Stay here,” Gideon ordered, taking a running leap for the pier, curling his hands around a horizontal metal beam below the boardwalk, his feet dangling. He swung sideways, hooking one foot over the beam, then the other, sliding his feet back in to a crouch. Then, balancing on the arches of his feet, he rose, grabbing the weathered wood of the boardwalk. There was just enough room for him to hoist himself up and under the bottom rung of the rail, to slide the rest of his body onto the pier. Then, springing up to stand, he looked for the source of the commotion.

There. On his left. An older man, red-faced with rage, gun drawn, breathing so hard Gideon could see the rise and fall of his chest. Could practically hear his ragged intake of air. And another man sprawled on the ground, clutching his belly, fresh blood pooling on the wood beneath him. Gideon stepped forward, but someone clutched his arm, pulling him back. Dominic.

“You want me to prove what I am?” Gideon asked, prying Dominic’s fingers from his arm. “Watch this.”

Gideon pulled a throwing knife from the holster at his hip and tossed it. Watched it rise in a perfect arc, landing square in the middle of the gunman’s thigh. It should have hurt, should have taken him down. Instead the man glanced down, swore loudly, and shifted his gun.

Aiming it right at Dominic.

Gideon seized Dominic’s shoulder, tugging him down just as he saw the man’s finger squeeze the trigger. “Stay down,” he commanded, shooting up from the boards, taking a running leap for the gunman as he pulled another small knife from his belt. He threw himself at the man, knocking them both to the ground, burying his knife in the man’s shoulder as he held him down.

Even impaled with two knives, the man struggled to toss Gideon off, his eyes wild with fury. And he was _strong_. Gideon struggled to stay astride him, digging his knees into the man’s hips, arms locked, pressing against the man’s chest.

Then Gideon heard more shouting up ahead. And the dull thud of fists meeting flesh. He chanced a glance up to see two—no, three—women punching and kicking each other.

Then more shouting beside him. And the muffled snick of a switchblade opening.

He threw himself off the gunman, spinning toward Dominic to run, to get them away. Then ducked, just missing the switchblade aimed right for his throat. He swept his foot out, tripping the would-be assassin, snatching Dominic’s sleeve as he fled.

“Azrael! Raphael!” he shouted. “I could use a little help down here!”

Gideon and Dominic tore along the boardwalk, shoving tourists aside, some swearing loudly behind them. Some erupting into fights themselves. Gideon didn’t care. Something was going on. Something was _wrong_. They needed to get the hell out of here.

When they reached the parking lot, Gideon tugged Dominic behind a tour bus, peering around it to see if anyone followed. It looked clear. Gideon’s shoulders sagged in relief as he spun back, wondering how on Earth he was going to explain this to Dominic. But he didn’t need to.

Dominic was gone.

Hope stood in his place, her green eyes wide as she took in the blood on his shirt, on his hands. On his face, apparently.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

#

Hope handed Dominic and Gideon mugs of fresh coffee, both black, before sitting across from them at the kitchen island, reaching into her hoodie pocket for a hair elastic. She kept her gaze on Gideon while he explained what happened at the pier, but watched Dominic in her peripheral vision, his expression guarded the entire time.

Before Raphael brought Dominic in, Gideon briefly told her about their meeting, the haunted look in his eyes. Hope could feel it now, the wariness oozing from him like cologne, his eyes shifting between the two of them as Gideon talked.

This kid had been through hell.

“Are you hungry?” Hope asked when Gideon paused to take a large gulp of coffee. She hopped off the stool, heading for the fridge.

“Nah, I’m okay,” the boy mumbled from behind her. But she pulled out a plate of sandwiches anyway, setting it in front of him. He didn’t say another word but managed to inhale two of them before Hope was even able to return to her seat. As she slid onto the stool, she met Gideon’s gaze, her raised eyebrows matching his.

“Dominic—”

“Call me Dom,” he interrupted around a mouthful of bread, washing it down with a healthy slug of coffee. Gideon got up to refill his cup, his fingers grazing Hope’s shoulder as he passed.

“Okay, Dom.” She hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject. It was clear from the way he approached Gideon he didn’t live at home anymore. Hope could understand that; she’d moved out the minute she graduated from high school, not able to stand her mother’s overbearing protectiveness. Of course, she now knew _why_ her mother had been so protective—she took a deep breath, steeling herself for a dose of teen drama. “Is there anyone—a parent, maybe—who’ll notice you’re gone? Anyone we should call?”

“Nope.” Dom didn’t look at her as he snatched another sandwich, shoving the entire thing in his mouth. But Gideon did, shooting her a half-sympathetic, half-amused look. She pursed her lips, angling her head in Dom’s direction, silently inviting Gideon to try.

“Uh, I guess we didn’t really give you a choice, whether you wanted to stay here or not,” he began, turning to Dom, ignoring the murderous look Hope was shooting him. “If you want, I could take you ho—back,” he finished, looking uneasy.

Dom raised his head, first meeting Hope’s eyes, then Gideon’s, his face impassive. “You can teach me how to do that stuff you did on the pier?” he asked Gideon, his voice flat. Gideon nodded, shooting a mildly alarmed glance to Hope.

“We can show you how to do a lot of things,” Hope said, trying to sound encouraging. “Not just fighting, but how to move from one place to another, maybe how to move things without touching them—”

“Oh, I can already do that,” Dom said, casually, gulping the rest of his coffee like water.

Gideon’s expression went from mildly alarmed to panicked. Telekinesis was a sophisticated Nephilim ability, and not everyone had it. Gideon couldn’t even do it.

But Hope could.

“You can?” Gideon asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but Hope could hear the strain.

“Yeah. It’s easy,” Dom said around a mouthful of food. “And an easy way to get by.” He reached into his hoodie pocket, pulling out Gideon’s wallet. And a throwing knife. Gideon reached across the counter to retrieve the items, looking—relieved.

“So, you’re not a—”

“Nah,” Dom said around a mouthful of food. “But it’s an easy way to throw people off.” Hope met Gideon’s eye across the table, but he just shook his head, giving her a I’ll-tell-you-later look.

Then he turned back to Dominic. “If you want to stay, I can show you to your room as soon as you’re done.”

Dom nodded as he gulped down rest of the coffee, then hopped off the stool, grabbing the last two sandwiches left on the plate. “I’m done.”

“Then let’s go.”

Hope wasn’t sure if Dom heard the inflection in Gideon’s voice as he walked ahead of Dom, leading him to the hallway door near the common area. The ‘this one is going to be a handful’ inflection. But Hope sure did; she smiled tightly at him as they both left. Then she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the counter, tugging her hands through her hair, loosening the hair tie.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” she swore. Then remembered she was supposed to meet Seth as soon as she got back from helping Gideon. She jumped up from the stool, heading for the door to her dorm room to get her house keys.

She really needed to get Raphael to take down those wards around her apartment.


	4. Flirt Later, Read Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you reading? It must be fascinating since you didn’t hear me come in.”  
> “Just some research,” Seth muttered, turning back to the book. Hope plopped down beside him, setting both glasses on the coffee table, reading over his shoulder.  
> “Wait, is that in Latin?” she asked. She’d taken one semester of it way back in university, for an elective credit, figuring it might help with the medical terminology. Turned out she should have taken Greek. But at least she could recognize the words on the page in front of her now.  
> Seth nodded, pointing to the top of the page.  
> “Septem mortalibus peccatis,” Hope read out loud, slowly. “The seven deadly—”  
> “Sins,” he finished, looking up, lips curling in a half smile. “Pride. Gluttony. Sloth. Greed. Envy. Wrath. And my personal favorite—” he winked at her. “Lust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope learns who's behind the murders in Seattle—and the incident at the Santa Monica Pier.  
> And it's so _so_ much worse than she feared.

Seth absently ran a finger around the rim of his glass, staring at Hope’s blank TV screen, thinking about what Azrael had told him. It wasn’t much, but those deaths didn’t sound like demons. It wasn’t how they usually operated. They didn’t just go up to Earth on their own, randomly fucking and killing people.

They were usually summoned. But by whom?

Of the six people she had mentioned, four of their souls had ended up here. In Hell. He’d questioned them himself, but they only gave one name. Lillian Barnes, a name he’d never heard before. They wouldn’t—or couldn’t—give him anything more. And he wasn’t willing to resort to torture. Not anymore. No matter how helpful it might have been.

He took a large sip of whisky, now worrying about Hope, even though he knew she would be fine. She was strong, powerful. Hell, she was part-demon, for crying out loud. If she tried, she could be stronger than him. But she hadn’t been training, not since there wasn’t anything to train for.

She spent most of her spare time working at the hospital. He understood why; she needed something to do, some way to feel useful, but—he worried about her. A lot.

Especially since she started having those nightmares again.

And there was talk, in Hell. About the job he was doing. The fact he had the job at all. Some even called him traitor for killing Lucifer but at least they were smart enough not to do it to his face.

He knew there would be a shift, an adjustment period because he wasn’t willing to be as brutal, as merciless as Lucifer had been. Anytime a new soul arrived, he left it to his lieutenants to handle, the idea of torturing a soul, even a condemned one, making his stomach turn. He knew it was—at least in part—because of the ring he wore on his right hand. The ring Azrael had kept and saved for him all these years. The ring Hope gave him when he thought all was lost.

But before, when he worked with Lucifer—he twirled the ring around his finger as he downed the contents of his glass, scowling both at the burn and his thoughts. He needed to find a replacement—a permanent one. Soon. Before there was a mutiny—

Wait.

Those people didn’t just die having sex. They died from having too much sex. Like they couldn’t stop, even though it was killing them. Like they were consumed by—

The realization slammed into his gut like a punch, catching his breath, the empty glass slipping from his fingers, clattering onto the coffee table.

He bolted up from the couch and out the front door and barely paused to make sure no one would see him before he vanished.

By the devil, Seth hated this office, had barely stepped foot in it since Lucifer died. He felt like it would always be _his_ , no matter what he did to it, no matter how much he changed the décor.

But it _was_ Seth’s office now, the tower room at the top of the Hall of Anguish. Had been for six months. And he needed to start using it. He stood in the center, looking around, images of what happened here flooding his mind like a disorganized movie playing out of order.

At the floor beside the sleek black leather couch, where he was left bleeding, nearly broken, hoping Hope would come to save him, wishing she wouldn’t. At the large cherry wood desk in front of him where Lucifer grabbed Hope, doing that _thing_ he did, tricking her into that infernal bargain—when he realized he was in love with her because he felt his own heart crack in two when she’d said yes.

At the leather chair behind the desk where he sat that first day when he accepted his position as head of the Hall of Anguish, having to appoint a new second and third, hating every choice he had. He finally just picked Asmodeus’s former lieutenants, Gressil and Malphas. The easier, lazier option for sure, but at least it wouldn’t ruffle too many feathers. And they could practically run the place without him.

Seth shuddered, feeling it down to his bones. He bent over, grabbing the end of the desk, fighting to pull in a breath. And another.

He could do this. He had to do this. Michael had been right six months ago.

There was no one else.

Seth squared his shoulders, throwing them back, taking one final look at the room that gave him the worst memories in the centuries he’d been alive. Then he snapped his fingers.

The room transformed instantly, the furnishings from his own study replacing the old ones, the obsidian windows completely obscured by tall, full bookshelves. He ran a hand along a row of books, trailing his fingers along the spines, some of them nearly falling apart with age. He remembered how Lucifer had made fun of him for keeping them. For spending almost as much time reading as torturing. But he knew Lucifer appreciated that Seth read so much, could pluck any book from his personal library when its wisdom was required.

And it was required now. He found what he was looking for, slid it from it from the shelf, and returned to Hope’s apartment.

#

“Seth?” Hope swung open the door, the hallway of her apartment dark. Silent. “Hello?”

Still no answer.

She kicked off her shoes, padding into the living room, the light growing brighter as she approached.

Seth _was_ there, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, a large, leather-bound, very old-looking book in front of him. He was clearly so absorbed in it he hadn’t heard her. She pressed her lips together, then crept around to him, trying to stay out of his peripheral vision as long as possible, tiptoeing until she stood right beside him, her shadow falling over him and the book.

“What are you reading?”

Seth’s whole body seized at her voice, his head snapping to hers, his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, woman, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Hope had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud as Seth’s body relaxed once more—and then his brow shot up.

“Come down here and let me bite that lip for you.”

She snorted, reaching for his empty glass, walking to the cabinet to fill it and one for her. “What are you reading? It must be fascinating since you didn’t hear me come in.”

“Just some research,” he muttered, turning back to the book. Hope plopped down beside him, setting both glasses on the coffee table, reading over his shoulder.

“Wait, is that in Latin?” she asked. She’d taken one semester of it way back in university, for an elective credit, figuring it might help with the medical terminology. Turned out she should have taken Greek. But at least she could recognize the words on the page in front of her now.

Seth nodded, pointing to the top of the page.

“Septem mortalibus peccatis,” Hope read out loud, slowly. “The seven deadly—”

“Sins,” he finished, looking up, lips curling in a half smile. “Pride. Gluttony. Sloth. Greed. Envy. Wrath. And my personal favorite—” he winked at her. “Lust.”

Hope rolled her eyes, her lips twitching. “I’d never have guessed.”

Seth shrugged. “I’m not averse to a little gluttony, either,” he drawled, his hand sliding up her thigh. Hope swatted it away, as she picked up her glass.

“Later, Romeo.” She moved in, peering closer at the page but her Latin definitely wasn’t good enough to translate more than a word or two. “Why can’t infernal reference materials have pictures?” she groused.

Seth laughed, then pointed to a passage about halfway down the first page. “The sins. They’re demons. Sort of. But nothing like the ones you’ve dealt with. They’re older. More powerful. They use the host body as a disguise, infecting everyone around them with whatever sin they represent. The corruption is unavoidable. It’s immune to choice, to willpower, to anything. Once a mortal is infected, they are compelled to act, to do whatever they can to try to satisfy whatever craving the sin has created within them, whether for power, money, prestige, you name it. But they can’t. They just keep going and going—”

“Like a demonic Energizer Bunny,” Hope joked, feeling her gut clench.

“Exactly. I _knew_ those deaths in Seattle seemed weird. Familiar, somehow. Those people. they couldn’t stop, couldn’t appease that lust—that infected part of them, not until—”

“They died.” It made sense. It made perfect sense. And—

“Wait. In Santa Monica. When I had to go help Gideon. He said a huge brawl just broke out from out of nowhere on the Pier. That people just started shooting and stabbing and fighting each other—”

“Yeah, it sure sounds like Wrath passed through there,” Seth said, frowning. “So, we know where at least two of them have struck. Which means they definitely escaped.” He snatched his glass from the table, taking a healthy swig. “Or were let out.”

Hope choked on the sip she had been taking. She coughed, the alcohol burning her throat, making her gasp for breath. She tried to speak, but her throat was tight, on fire. It took a moment before she could get the words out. “Let out?” she finally rasped, taking another sip, holding it in her mouth to settle the burn before letting it slide down her throat. That was better. “But who could—”

“Lucifer,” Seth replied, his expression grim. “He was the one to seal them away nearly five hundred years ago. Used one hell of a spell to do it, too.” He snatched a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table, marking the place in the book before closing it with a dull thud. “He’s—or he _was_ —the only one powerful enough to contain them. But—”

“But he’s dead,” whispered Hope, feeling her stomach clench. She saw it, saw Gloria pierce his chest, saw his golden angel blood stain the citrine floor at the top of the Hall of Healing, mixing with her own. Just before she nearly died herself. “He _is_ dead, right?”

Seth nodded, closing his eyes as he drained his glass. “I know where it is. Where he sealed them away. It’s in Hell—in one of the lesser-known areas. And the spell to open the seal is in here,” he pointed at the book. “We should go, see if they’ve managed to escape—”

Hope finished her drink as well, stifling a yawn. “Sounds great. But maybe we could go in the morning? I’ve had…a day,” she finished, feeling lame. It had been too long; she wasn’t used to this much excitement. The last six months had been too easy, too calm. Even working in the ER had been less stressful.

Well, except for those damned nightmares.

Seth reached for her, his fingers on her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “It can wait until morning,” he agreed.

Then gently, so gently, he brushed her mouth with his, grazing his teeth along her lower lip. Hope groaned, pressing closer, trying to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away, his pupils huge, surrounded by a halo of quicksilver. “Just a little something to think about. When you go to sleep.” He let her go, pulling himself up to stand, smirking down at her as he offered his hand.

“You’re a goddamned bastard.” Hope pushed his hand away, using the side of the coffee table to pull herself up. He just chuckled, pulling her close, sliding his arms around her back.

“You have no idea,” he breathed into her ear, making her shiver. Then he bit her earlobe, tugging gently with his teeth, making her sag against him.

“Stay,” she pleaded, every nerve now awake. And working overtime. But Seth just pressed a kiss against her throat, right at her pulse, then pulled away.

“You need sleep,” he said, glancing at her eyes, at the shadows she knew were getting darker by the second. “I promise I’ll come wake you in the morning.”

“Fine,” she bit out, pulling herself out of his arms, towing him to the front door. Then she slammed him against it, crushing him with her mouth, her body, pinning his wrists against the wood, kissing him deeply until she heard him snarl with frustration, _felt_ how much he wanted to stay.

She released him, stepping back, her lips lifting in a sharp smile. “Something for _you_ to think about. _If_ you can sleep.” Then she turned and headed to her bedroom, not watching him leave, knowing he would anyway.

And would hate every second he was gone.

#

_Lucifer reached for her, tipping her chin to meet his black, bottomless eyes. They were in his office, just like that night when she’d agreed to his bargain. Only this time they were alone._

_“What do you really want? More than anything?”_

_Hope bit her lip until she tasted blood, trying to resist, to not give in to the darkness probing into her head. Seeing into her very soul._

_“Give him back,” she breathed._

_“Are you certain?” His eyes widened, pulling her in further. “He won’t ever be the same. Now he knows what it’s like. To have that kind of power. To have that kind of control.”_

_“Give him back,” she repeated, fighting his pull, but it was hard, so hard—_

_“You’re going to have to take him,” Lucifer snarled, his face twisting. Then it changed, his eyes lightening to the color of slate, his body morphing into another’s._

_Seth’s._

_He released her, stepping away, his hands around the hilt of the blade protruding from his chest, seven stones gleaming in the brilliant dawn sunlight at the top of the Hall of Healing._

_“Help me,” he rasped, dropping to his knees._

_“No!” Hope lunged forward, covering his hands with hers, trying to pull Gloria free but it wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t help him, couldn’t heal him. Not until she got that sword out._

_His eyes started to glaze over, his face pale, shimmering blood pooling around the stab wound, dripping onto the yellow stone. Hope dropped the sword, falling beside him, pulling his head onto her lap, making one last futile effort to pull the blade free._

_“You can’t save me,” he whispered, blood trickling from his lips. “What’s done—cannot be undone.” He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. Slow. Fading._

_Hope sobbed as she clutched him against her chest, wrapping her arms around him, his blood sliding over her hands. “Please, Seth, you can’t,” she begged. “You can’t leave me. Please.”_

_Then he opened his eyes one last time. They were as black as the midnight sky._

Hope shot up from her bed, her heart slamming against her chest, her eyes flying open. She took a great gasping breath, like she hadn’t breathed in days. Years. Then a pair of arms wrapped around hers, drawing her close.

“Hope,” Seth’s voice was soft, soothing as he held her against him, the shoulder of his shirt growing damp under her face. She’d been crying, but already the nightmare was starting to fade, the images blending, slipping from her consciousness like water through a sieve.

She sniffled, loudly, pulling away from him to wipe her nose against the side of her hand. Her breathing was still hitched, uneven, but her heart rate started to return to normal. “I’m okay,” she said, thickly, glancing at her nightstand for a tissue.

“You scared the crap out of me,” Seth said, one side of his mouth curving in a humorless smile. “As soon as I came in, you screamed ‘No!’ then burst into tears. I couldn’t wake you, couldn’t pull you out.” He blinked and suddenly he merged with the image from her dream, an icy spear of dread piercing her gut.

She remembered everything.

She couldn’t see it now, but it was coming. Seth was in Lucifer’s position. No matter how much he might resist it, how much he might resent it. He had the same power, the same control over countless mortal souls. He could cause them eternal, unyielding torment.

If he didn’t get out, and soon, he would _become_ Lucifer.

“Hope, are you okay?” Seth asked and clearly not for the first time. Hope shook her head, realizing she was staring at his eyes, waiting for them to change to black. But, for now, they were the same grey-blue they always were. And they were crinkled with worry.

She blinked, forcing her lips into a tremulous smile. Wiped the last of the tears away, then, feeling her heart crack, just a sliver, she kissed him. “I’m okay,” she said against his mouth. “Just another nightmare.”

Seth pulled away, running his hands along her bare upper arms, still covered in gooseflesh. “Are you sure? Sure you want to do this today? Where we’re going—it’s not pleasant. There are—”

“I’m sure.” She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “We need to know, right? That they’re out? That they escaped?”

“Yeah.” It was a loaded response, the word falling from his lips like a lead weight. But then he shifted, pressing his mouth to her forehead before sliding over and off the bed. “Get dressed. I’ll make you coffee.”

#

“I thought you said it was in Hell,” Hope said as she and Seth stood at the entrance to a cave near a small town in southern Ireland. It was late afternoon there, the sun still bright and warm with a gentle breeze coming in from the water. Except for the difference in foliage and the time change, they could have been standing somewhere in Victoria.

“It is,” replied Seth, squinting into the entrance. “But you can only get to it from here.” He turned to face Hope, a sardonic smile lifting the corner of one side of his mouth. “One of Lucifer’s more clever tricks.”

He reached into the small day pack he brought, pulling out two small flashlights, handing one to her. “Stick close to me. This cave is a maze, with lots of twists and turns. People have been lost in here for days.”

Hope laughed as she grabbed his free hand, lacing her fingers between his as she drew up beside him. “Lead the way, Indiana Jones.”

Seth turned his head just enough to frown at her. “Who?”

“Jesus Christ, do none of you angels ever watch a movie?” Hope rolled her eyes as he led her through the mouth of the cave, the passage narrow, with only room for one of them to pass through at a time.

“I’m just messing with you,” Seth said and Hope could hear the teasing in his voice as he towed her along, flipping on his flashlight, Hope doing the same. “Besides, I’m way hotter than he is.”

She rolled her eyes again, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “And so modest, too.”

They moved along the passage, Hope spotting several offshoots as they went, those paths even more narrow. Seth seemed to know where he was going, though. He led them a bit further down, then turned into one of the smaller tunnels, then another. Then another. Hope started to lose track—she would never get out of here by herself.

Then they reached a dead end. Hope shone her light at the wall of limestone in front of them, glancing up at Seth. “Wrong turn?” she asked.

“No.” He shifted to the side, pulling Hope up so she faced him, pulling a small knife from his pocket. He dropped her hand to slide the blade open, then, before she could react, he snatched her hand back, slicing the palm from the base of her thumb to her little finger. Her hand jerked a bit before she felt the sting. And saw the line of blood well up.

“Of course it needs demon blood,” she complained as he thrust her bloody hand against the stone.

But nothing happened.

“What—” she started to say, but cut herself off as Seth placed his hand, also bleeding, to the wall beside hers.

“It needs both.” He smiled at her. “Sorry about the cut.”

“But I _have_ both.” Now the wall started to glow, the limestone becoming clear, then vanishing altogether.

“Not enough.” He shrugged, pressing a folded cloth along his hand, passing a similar one to her. “We can’t heal these. Not yet. We’ll need them again.” Then he ducked into the new passage, this one so tight and narrow Hope could barely stay upright. Seth practically folded himself in half to get through.

The rock was different, too. Darker, rougher, and the tunnel smelled like sulfur. “We must be in the Hell part now, right?” Seth nodded, picking his way along the now-bumpy ground. Hope angled her flashlight down, careful not to trip on the jagged knots of volcanic rock.

“Not too much further,” Seth said, as the tunnel grew wider, higher. They could now walk upright, could see further ahead than before.

Then the tunnel ended at a wide, open area, a large pool of sunlight streaming down from somewhere high above; Hope squinted up at it, but she couldn’t see the ceiling. The light made walls of the cavern glitter, something in the dark stone reflecting it, making it look like they were surrounded by tiny lights.

“It’s so pretty,” she breathed, looking around. Then she tripped on an edge of obsidian. Seth lunged to catch her, keeping his arm around her as he followed her gaze.

“It is. Who knew Lucifer was such a romantic.” He winked at her and Hope snorted.

“Okay, so how do we break the seal?” She asked, glancing around, looking for something that looked like a seal _to_ break.

“Like this.” Seth released her to slide the pack off his back, rummaging around until he found a small black velvet bag, sealed with a drawstring. He pried it open, pulling out an empty vial, and two small squares of cloth. One of them contained a tiny, zip-locked bag, filled with something squishy and red. The other contained—

“Is that a finger bone?” Hope asked, crouching down to peer over Seth’s shoulder. It sure looked like one: long, with a small, rounded head at one end and a curved socket at the other. It also looked _old_ ; it was yellowed with age, covered with pockmarks where the calcium had eroded.

“Yeah,” Seth replied. “It was Asmodeus’s.”

“But why does it look so old, then? He only died six months ago.” Hope frowned as she pressed herself against Seth’s back, trying to get a closer look.

“His body was much older. When you killed him—with a lovely amount of finesse, I might add—his body decomposed very quickly. I was lucky to get this intact.” He curled his hand around the bone, briefly, before lowering it back onto the cloth. Then he stood, re-opening the wound on his palm.

Seth pulled the stopper from the vial, squeezing his hand closed until a small stream of glimmering red blood poured into it. Hope stood and did the same, hissing at the sting in her palm as the blood welled once more, then began to pool. She tipped her hand to pour the blood into the vial; the second her blood mixed with his, it changed color, from the brighter red of fresh blood to nearly black.

The color of pure demon blood.

“Holy crap,” Hope breathed as she watched Seth stopper the vial, then tip it back and forth to mix the contents thoroughly. It was still darker than regular blood.

“And that’s why we probably can’t have children,” he said softly. Hope’s head snapped up, startled. His expression was wry, but she thought she could see just a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t even know you wanted them,” she murmured. She hadn’t asked, assumed it wasn’t an option. And now she had the confirmation. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Just like that his expression lightened, his lips lifting in a warmer smile. “I’d probably be a lousy father anyway, being the ruler of Hell and all.” He bent, collected the other items, then walked ahead until he was standing right in front of the glimmering stone of the cavern, peering at one area intently. He shook his head, then continued around the cavern, his frown deepening as he concentrated.

“There.” He pointed to an area of rock that looked exactly like the rest. “The seal. It’s here.”

“How can you tell?” Hope squinted at it, looking for something to distinguish it from the rest of the stone, but she just couldn’t see it. Seth turned, smirking as he grasped her wrist, pressing her uninjured hand against the rock. Then she felt it, a low vibration, like pressing against a speaker. Or a running car. She pulled her hand away, but she could still feel it in the air.

“Stand back,” he warned. “I have no idea what we will find on the other side.”

“If we’re right, we won’t find anything.”

“But if someone let the demons out, they might have set a trap.” Of course. She stepped back several paces.

And watched Seth open the seal.

He poured the vial of blood on the rock, almost invisible against the stone as it dripped down. Until the stone began to blaze a brilliant ruby red. Then Seth placed the bone in his uninjured hand, squeezing into a tight fist, crushing it into a coarse powder. He pressed the powder against the wet rock, smearing his hand down, a streak of blue-light white glowing in its wake. Finally, he pried open the small bag, pulling whatever it was out, then pressing it to the same spot. It landed with a wet slap, making Hope’s stomach turn.

“Is that—meat?” She asked, pretty sure what the answer was, equally sure it was not from the supermarket. Seth nodded, not breaking his gaze from that spot of stone, now shining a bright poison green.

“Grab the book,” he said, kicking his foot back, to indicate the backpack behind them both. Hope dashed over, pulling the book from the large compartment of the bag, then racing back. “Open it to the marked page. Then read.”

“But I can’t—”

“You’ll be fine. It’s not a long passage. And pronunciation doesn’t count.”

She saw a hint of a smile on the side of his face as she opened the book. “Smartass.”

“Flirt later,” he drawled. “Read now.”

Hope snorted, then glanced down at the page. “Per sanguine.”

“By blood,” Seth muttered, translating it for her. The stone turned red again.

“Per os.”

“By bone.” It changed to a pale blue.

“Per carnem.”

“By flesh.”

Hope cringed, wondering what, exactly, that flesh had belonged to. The stone turned bright green. “Ego aperire hoc ostium. Ego conteram sigillum hanc.”

“I open this door. I break this seal,” Seth said softly, stepping back. Hope did the same. The green light spread, creating a large oval, growing wider until it became large enough to walk through.

“Apertum mihi.”

“Open for me,” he whispered. The stone within the green light vanished.

“Jesus Christ,” Hope breathed, gazing at the chamber behind the stone. It was large and circular, like a vault, the walls smooth obsidian gleaming dully in the light coming in from the cavern.

It looked completely empty.

Then Hope looked down and could just make out a box, nearly as black as the walls surrounding it. She stepped toward it.

And Seth grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Don’t touch it,” he said, pulling her further behind him. “It’s warded.” He slowly approached, Hope following, pulling her flashlight from her back pocket to shine on the box.

The surface didn’t reflect any light.

He stopped, staring down at it, then dropped her hand. Stalked over, crouching down right in front of the thing.

“Motherfucker.”

Hope laughed. She couldn’t help it. “You’re starting to sound like me,” she said, her smile dying as Seth turned to her.

“I don’t think they escaped.” He picked up the box, Hope half-expecting it to explode in his hands.

But nothing happened.

Seth brought the box to her, his face grim as he snapped open the lid. “Look.” Hope looked. There was a catch, just like a jewelry box, but the end was snapped clean off, the box empty. “The lock is broken. And the stones inside are missing—”

“Stones?”

Seth nodded, closing the lid again. “Precious stones. One for each demon. To keep them contained. The lock was to keep others out. I don’t think they could have done this from the inside.”

Hope continued to stare as his words sunk in, as the meaning behind them sunk in. “But—you said—”

“I know.” Seth, still carrying the box, walked to the backpack; Hope followed, stuffing the book inside. He slung it over one shoulder, then grabbed her by the wrist, leading her back to the tunnel. “We need to get this back, to show the others.” He paused, meeting Hope’s worried eyes, his own darkening in panic.

“Lucifer is alive.”


	5. I Think We Have…Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Those deaths in Seattle. They seemed familiar.” Seth shot Azrael a small smirk as he thumped the book on the table. “Then Hope told me what happened in Santa Monica. And it all made sense.”  
> “What happened in Santa Monica?” asked Michael, his expression darkening as he turned to Gideon and Hope. She felt herself shrink under his gaze, lowering herself in her chair. Gideon reached over and squeezed her hand. She shot him a worried look but he just sat up straighter, cocking one eyebrow at her before he spoke.  
> “Well, the good news is that Raphael found us another Nephilim. The bad news is that I had to pull him out of the battle of Westeros.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarya enters Nephilim Academy aka the Hall of Healing. And meets Dom.  
> Hope goes to an emergency council meeting and learns a few things. Like that the Seven Deadly Sins were responsible for the French Revolution.

Gideon checked his watch as he climbed the steps to Sarya’s house. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock but the summer sun already shone brightly overhead, the breeze coming in from the distant ocean helping to cool the air that threatened to grow hotter as the day progressed. He was dressed much more casually this time, in jeans and a white t-shirt, but figured he could use the weekend as an excuse. There was no way he was wearing a suit again anytime soon.

He barely raised his hand to knock on the door when it burst open, Sarya standing on the other side, a giant, relieved smile on her face.

“I wasn’t…” her smile faltered. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Gideon replied, glancing behind her, expecting several bags, or even a few boxes. But there was just one large duffel bag—which looked like it was bursting at the seams. “Is that it?”

Sarya followed his gaze, then blushed. “Yeah. I don’t have much stuff. And I wanted it to look like I was going to boarding school.” She frowned when she turned to face him again. “Do I need more?”

Gideon shrugged. “Nah. It _is_ pretty close to a boarding school. The rooms are furnished.” He winked at her, curving his lips into a smile. “And you don’t even need to worry about a roommate.”

“Really? I get a room to myself?” She grinned, but then it faltered. “Oh right. Hope said—” She didn’t finish her thought. Didn’t have to. Hope must have told Sarya that the Nephilim had been nearly wiped out.

Come to think of it, it was interesting that two neophytes appeared just as another threat seemed to be looming. As people started dying.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

But Gideon shook the thought from his head as Sarya walked back into the house, just long enough to grab her bag, struggling to pull it off the floor, the whole side of her body sagging. Gideon strode inside, pulling the straps from her unresisting hands, slinging them over his shoulder. It wasn’t _that_ heavy. But then again, it was nearly as big as Sarya. He winked at her again as he took her hand.

“There’s only one other Nephilim living there right now, and he only…arrived last night.” Gideon made his voice sound light. “You’ll have nearly the entire place to yourself.” He gave her hand a slight squeeze, glancing around. “Where’s your mom? Do you need to say goodbye?”

Sarya shook her head, her dark hair swinging into her face. She brushed it aside with a frown. “Nah. She’s on a business trip.” The twinkle to her dark eyes snuffed out like a candle. “As usual.”

Gideon knew what that was like. His mom had never been never around either, too busy flitting off to benefit galas and charity auctions to be bothered with her son, half-angel or no. He wondered, not for the first time, how the hell Raphael had even met her, what drew her to him. Or him to her. They were so…different.

He shook his head, giving Sarya a sympathetic look. “Well, at least you won’t miss her. Not as much anyway.” He led her to the door. Closed and locked it from the inside. Then grinned at Sarya, at the puzzled expression on her face. “Where we’re heading, you can’t really get there by car.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Gideon leaned closer, knowing there was a gleam in his eyes. Which she answered with her own. “Heaven,” he said.

Sarya’s mouth dropped open.

Then they vanished.

#

“Do you drink coffee?” Gideon asked as he opened a cupboard.

Sarya barely heard him; she was too busy looking around. At the stainless-steel appliances in the kitchen, at the white cupboards, at the huge window above the sink, brilliant sunlight pouring in through it. At the living area with the overstuffed dark red recliner chairs, the huge wall-mounted television. This place was clean, uncluttered, but it felt different from her place. More like Ethan’s house.

More like a _home_.

“Would you like some coffee?” Gideon asked again, closer to her this time. Sarya felt her face grow hot as she blinked, turning her gaze to him. He was just so _pretty_.

“Yes,” she muttered, dropping her flaming face to her feet. She didn’t like coffee but she didn’t want to ask for tea, felt like it would be too stuffy. She slid off the stool at the pale-yellow stone counter, strolling to the living room area, flicking on the television as she heard the water run at the sink. It was already set on Netflix, so she scrolled through the list, frowning, knowing she’d watched just about all the anime to be found there. Well, all of it worth watching, anyway.

“Does—Heaven get internet reception, then?” she asked, exiting the program.

“Yeah.” Gideon’s voice was muffled as he pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard. “I don’t think most of the angels—or archangels—know how to use it though. What are you looking for?”

“I’ve got it.” She scrolled through the menu, not surprised to find the Crunchyroll app absent. Judging by the Netflix cue, it looked like Nephilim liked more live action shows. She could find the app later. She turned the TV off and returned to the kitchen area.

To find a steaming cup of black tea at her seat.

She brought the mug closer, the steam sweating her upper lip as she smelled it. Darjeeling. Her favorite. And not the bagged stuff either.

She blew across the top of the cup as she glanced up at Gideon. He grinned, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How did you know?” she asked.

He winked at her, then set his cup down across from her, plunking down into the chair. “I had a hunch.” He took a sip of his coffee, his blue eyes dancing over his cup. “What did you think of your room?”

“Oh my God,” she breathed, setting her mug down. “It’s so _nice_.” It was set up like a shared dorm room, with two beds on one side and two small desks on the other, but—the walls. They _glowed_. A soft, pale yellow that made the room seem warmer, cozier.

And the view. The strange stone towers outside, shining under a sun that looked so much closer than on Earth. Sarya spent the entire time she was supposed to be unpacking staring outside the huge window at the foot of her bed—

She heard a noise behind her, the swing of a door. She spun on her stool toward it. And stared.

The boy looked to be about her age, maybe a bit older. Blue eyes so pale they looked silver against the dark, straight hair that slashed across his face. His face was thin and angular. Hell, his whole body was thin and angular. He was a dead ringer for Tatsuya from _The Irregular at Magic High School_.

Were all Nephilim this good-looking? And if so, what the hell was she doing here?

“Hey,” he said, walking toward them, jutting his chin out at her briefly as he slid onto a stool beside Gideon’s. “I’m Dom.” Gideon was already up, pouring Dom a cup of coffee, an amused expression on his face.

“Sarya.” She took another sip of tea, letting the mug cover her burning face. “I just got here.”

“Cool.” He glanced up at Gideon, then at the mug set in front of him. “Got anything to eat?”

“Uh sure, I think we have…something,” Gideon headed to the fridge, pulling out eggs and bread, setting them on the counter beside him.

Then he shot up, his back stiffening. He turned to them, looking stunned for a moment, then shook his head. “I hope one of you can cook. I have to run to an emergency meeting.” He nearly ran for the door, then faced them once more, hand on the handle. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, hang out.”

He left.

Sarya watched the door swing shut, then continued to stare at it, the silence between her and Dom growing more awkward by the second. Finally, she turned, determined to make some sort of small talk, but he was already getting up, rummaging through the cupboards for a pan. Once he found one, he faced her, an unsure smile on his face. It softened the hard lines of his face and Sarya found herself relax a bit.

“Fried or scrambled?”

#

“Is that what I think it is?” Gabriel asked, pointing at the small, ebony box in the center of the glass table of the council chamber. It reflected none of the amethyst light glowing around the room, standing like a dark, rectangular cube made of shadow. The uneasy feeling Hope had when she first saw the box, when they took it from the cavern, grew. She stared at it, half-expecting it to do—something.

Apparently everyone else felt the same way because the chamber grew silent, all eyes on the box, the tension growing thicker with each breath.

“What’d I miss?” Gideon leaned toward Hope as he slid into the seat beside her. He glanced around, the easy smile he initially wore fading to a look of apprehension.

“Not much,” she murmured. “Just a whole lot of staring.” The silence deepened, lengthened, like an invisible blanket covering the room, making the air thick and difficult to breathe. Hope glanced at Seth; his expression was tense but his gaze wasn’t fixed on the box.

It was on Michael.

“Why did you bring this here?” Michael asked, finally breaking the silence. “And why is the lock _missing_?”

“No, Sammy,” breathed Azrael, turning to him. “You don’t really think…”

“I _know_ ,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Michael. “The seven sins. They were released.” He frowned. “Or they escaped. But I don’t think that’s likely. As you can see, the lock is broken from the outside. And the stones are missing.” He took a deep breath, finally breaking his stare to glance around the room. He gave Hope a strange look as he leaned to the other side, pulling the book from his backpack.

“Those deaths in Seattle. They seemed familiar.” He shot Azrael a small smirk as he thumped the book on the table. “Then Hope told me what happened in Santa Monica. And it all made sense.”

“What happened in Santa Monica?” asked Michael, his expression darkening as he turned to Gideon and Hope. She felt herself shrink under his gaze, lowering herself in her chair. Gideon reached over and squeezed her hand. She shot him a worried look but he just sat up straighter, cocking one eyebrow at her before he spoke.

“Well, the good news is that Raphael found us another Nephilim. The bad news is that I had to pull him out of the battle of Westeros.”

The archangels all frowned, confused, as they shifted their gaze from the box to Gideon. Hope pressed her lips together to suppress the wild urge to laugh. “There was a brawl,” he explained. “People just started fighting, shooting guns, beating the crap out of each other. Out of nowhere. It was insane. I wasn’t prepared, wasn’t armed well enough.” Gideon frowned, his eyes darkening before he dropped them to the floor. “We barely got out of there,” he said, so quietly even Hope barely heard him.

Hope’s gut clenched. She knew he blamed himself, felt responsible for Dominic, that it would’ve killed Gideon if anything had happened to him. She squeezed Gideon’s hand, leaning over to him. “You’ve been watching _Game of Thrones_?” she asked out the side of her mouth, trying to distract him.

It worked. His lips quirked as he lifted his head to her, nodding. “We _do_ have HBO up here, you know.”

Hope snorted. Then felt her face burn as everyone turned to look at them, Michael frowning in disapproval. Hope felt like she’d been caught talking in class. She cleared her throat, giving Michael a guilty look. “Sorry,” she muttered, her face and throat on fire.

“As I was saying,” Seth continued, shooting Hope a strange, unreadable look, “the deaths seemed familiar. And then I remembered. When it happened last time. When they were last released.” He pointed at the book.

“When Lucifer released them, you mean,” said Michael, his expression grave.

“Wait, Lucifer let them out last time?” Hope blurted, confused. She turned to Seth, glaring at him. “You told me he sealed them up. Not that he let them out in the first place.”

Seth at least had the sense to look sheepish. “I must’ve forgotten to mention that part.”

Hope rolled her eyes, turning to look at Raphael. “Do you know anything about the lock or the stones? As the Archangel of Wisdom, I mean.”

Raphael smiled slightly, opening his mouth to speak.

But Gabriel beat him to it, throwing a hand up. “Hey, Archangel of Knowledge over here. Don’t you think I might know something?” she asked, looking insulted.

Hope shifted her eyes to her, raising her brows, feeling Seth’s hand rest on her thigh, just above her knee. “Do you?”

“Uriel created the box. Gave it to Lucifer so he could contain the Sins. But the stones must’ve been Lucifer’s idea because I know I’ve never heard of them.” Gabriel cocked her head. “Uriel also gave him the spell to create the larger seal so I’m guessing it was destroyed when they escaped, huh?”

“Can someone please explain who the seven sins are?” Gideon asked, dropping Hope’s hand to lay both of his on the glass table.

“The seven deadly sins,” said Azrael, quietly. “Greed, Sloth, Pride, Gluttony—”

Seth’s hand slid further up Hope’s leg.

“—Wrath, Envy, and Lust.”

Seth’s hand crept up further, squeezing Hope’s inner thigh.

Hope bit her lip on the squeak that threatened to escape.

“Wait, those are _real_?” Gideon sounded as incredulous as Hope had when she’d asked Seth the same question. She snorted, tugging at Seth’s hand, trying to pull it down. He just shot her a brief, wicked smile, then snuck his fingers further in.

“Yes, and you’re right, Sammy. It does make sense,” Azrael said, not looking pleased. Then she turned to Gideon. “They’re demons. Ancient demons. Way stronger than the ones you’re used to.” She sighed. “They infect people. Make them experience the vice they represent.”

“But like a million times worse,” interrupted Gabriel. “They can’t stop feeling it. Sometimes the infection wears off, but usually…”

“They die,” said Raphael, quietly. “The last time they were released—well, I am certain you know about the French Revolution.”

“They caused the French Revolution?” asked Hope, trying again, unsuccessfully, to extricate Seth’s hand from her leg. He dug his fingers in, then crept them over and up, only inches away from—

Hope squirmed as she struggled to meet Raphael’s gaze.

“Not precisely. More like they caused the events that precipitated it. The Sins possessed some lesser members of the French court, infecting the higher nobility. Then they—Wrath in particular—infected the commoners, prompting the revolt.”

“Only Father knows why Lucifer let them out in the first place, but he didn’t like that they were stealing his thunder. Or his demons,” Gabriel added with a sardonic lift to her lips. “He got Uriel to build the box, to design the seal meant to lock them away forever. Looks like forever came a bit early.” She turned to Seth. “ _Is_ the seal broken?”

Seth shook his head, looking nonchalant as he relaxed his hand, stroking one finger closer—Hope bit back a gasp, feeling her face grow hot again. Gideon shot her an alarmed look, but she just shook her head.

Seth was going to be the death of her.

“No, and that’s why we think they were released. They would’ve had to decimate the seal to escape.” He turned to Raphael. “Can you fix the lock? Or build a new box?”

“Wait,” said Azrael, looking suspicious. “Who do _you_ think let them out? The only one who knew how to open the lock—”

“Is Lucifer.” Michael stood, leaning his broad hands on the table. “Or Uriel. But he’s human, not strong enough to withstand the blood magic. Which means Lucifer’s—”

“No,” breathed Gabriel.

Seth closed his eyes, sliding his hand away. Everyone grew silent again. Hope felt so edgy she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as the tension mounted, the agitation radiating from both Gideon and Seth.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” swore Gideon.

Hope barked out a laugh, Gabriel and Azrael biting back their own.

Even Michael smiled. “Well said, Gideon.” Then his expression became grim again. But the tension had lifted, the silence broken at he glanced over at Raphael. “Can you repair the lock?”

Raphael shook his head. “I do not think so. But if I can locate Uriel’s notes, I may be able to create a new one.”

“Make it so,” joked Hope. Only Gideon seemed to get the reference because he snorted. Michael cast her a quelling look. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Yes, Raphael, please get to work on this immediately,” said Michael. He turned back to Gideon and Hope. “Do you have any further information about Lust or Wrath? It appears they have already been…busy.”

“We believe Lust has possessed someone named Lillian Barnes. She’s a sex therapist making the rounds on YouTube. She’s making an appearance in Vancouver tonight, actually,” said Gideon.

“Excellent. Perhaps you and Hope could attend. Gather what information you can. But be careful—”

“Don’t let her touch either one of you,” Seth said, sliding his hand between Hope’s legs once more, pinching her inner thigh, making her jump. “That’s how she gets ya.” He leaned over, his lips brushing Hope’s ear. “Although I’m pretty sure angel blood—and demon blood—is immune. Unfortunately.”

Hope leaned closer. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered, placing her own hand on his upper thigh. Then higher. Goddamn. He was hard as a rock.

“You’d better move that hand if you don’t want me to take you right here.” He bit her earlobe; she bit her lip.

Then glanced up. The other archangels were talking amongst themselves, debating over the best way to locate the other demons and how to trap them.

But Gideon was staring deliberately at a point on the wall over Michael’s head, seemingly absorbed in it. And his cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes glazed. Hope felt a rush of embarrassment as she pulled away from Seth. Cleared her throat.

“Okay, well I guess we should get ready then.” She shot up from her seat, dislodging Seth’s hand, turning to Gideon. He met her eyes, his pupils blown open, his lips parted. Then he shook his head, smiling at her as he stood.

It didn’t look quite right. Not as…effortless.

“I’ll get us some weapons. Meet you in the training room.” He started to leave as the others stood, shuffling their chairs back.

Hope moved to follow but Seth grabbed her wrist. Brought her close, running one finger along the pulse at her neck. “I promised to wake you up this morning. That…didn’t work out.” He bent forward, his breath on her neck, his mouth at her ear. “Make sure I’m the one to put you to bed tonight. When you’re done.”

Hope shifted her head away, turning to bring her eyes level with his. “Are you sure you want to send me off to meet the embodiment of lust this wound up?”

“Well if you have five minutes—” His brows shot up. “Better make it ten.”

Hope laughed, brushing his lips with hers. Then started to walk away. “On second thought, I’ll wait.” She gave him a wicked smile as she reached Raphael. “I want to make you _suffer_.”

Raphael cast her a quizzical glance but Hope heard Azrael’s peal of laughter as she walked out the door.

#

“Scrambled,” said Sarya, wrinkling her nose. “Eggs yolks are gross.”

Dominic shrugged, turning to pull a bowl from one of the glass cupboards. Cracked the eggs, then frowned. Set them down to search the fridge for some butter, adding it to the pan. Sarya, feeling like she should do something, hopped off the stool to make toast.

After she slid the bread into the toaster, she stood, watching Dom cook the eggs, not able to take her eyes off his shoulder blades as they slid over his back. There was a grace to his movement, the wiry muscles of his upper body moving smoothly while he cooked.

Then he turned to her and she felt her face catch fire as he caught her staring. But he didn’t seem to mind. “The toast is ready,” he said, his lips twitching as he indicated the toaster beside her. She pressed her lips together, grabbing the toast, but it was already cold. She shoved the lever back down, turning away from Dom to hide her burning cheeks.

Sarya burnt her fingers snatching the bread the second it shot up from the toaster. Then practically flung it onto his plate as she walked around the island to her own. Buried her face in her hair as she shoved the eggs around on the plate, suddenly not hungry.

“Sarya.” Her head shot up, Dom looking at her, expectant. “How’re the eggs?”

“Oh, great,” she said, shoving a forkful into her mouth, washing it down with a large sip of now-cold tea. “Just…great.”

“Great,” he echoed, scooping the last bits of his egg onto his toast.

“So, you’re Nephilim. Like me.” Ugh. Of course he was. He was here, wasn’t he? She took another sip of tea, feeling like an idiot. Then she set the mug down, squaring her shoulders. It wasn’t like she hadn’t talked to boys before. It was just—

He was just another kid. Another boy, like Ethan. She didn’t know why she was being so dumb about it. Just because he looked exactly like—

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, Gideon said I am?” He crammed the last bit of toast in his mouth, chasing it with several swigs of coffee. “And I can move things. Without touching them.”

“Wait, you can?” Sarya forgot all about being shy, being intimidated. “Can you show me?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, turning his icy blue gaze to his now-empty coffee cup on the counter. It twitched, then jostled, then rose into the air. Sarya felt her eyes grow huge as she followed it on its path across the island, landing neatly beside hers.

“Holy crap,” she breathed.

Dom shrugged. “Can you do anything?” he asked, eyes still trained on the mug.

“Not that,” she snapped, harsher than she meant to. “I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t…done anything weird. Not yet, anyway.” She sighed, not wanting to say what she was thinking. That maybe Hope—and Gideon—were mistaken. That she was just…ordinary.

Dom lifted his head, barely meeting her eyes before he dropped his. “So, what kind of stuff do you like?” He sounded strained, like making small talk was a big effort. Like he wasn’t used to it.

“The usual,” she shrugged, smiling, trying to look reassuring. Encouraging. “TV, video games,” she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’m actually stuck at this level of _Alto’s Odyssey_.” She slid from the stool again, bringing up the game. Tilted the phone sideways as she moved closer to Dom so he could see the screen as she started to play.

Then hit the same barrier she’d hit at least a hundred times before.

“Ugh!” The noise slid from her throat as she tossed her head back. Then felt his fingers close around her phone.

“Can I try?”

Sarya released the phone, lifting her head to watch his attempt.

He cleared the level on his first try.

“Bastard!”

Dom snorted, handing the phone back. “You were trying to jump too soon. Wait until you’re just able to see the balloon, then jump.” He gave her a hint of a smile. “It took me a few tries, too.”

Sarya tucked the phone in her back pocket, heading to refill the tea kettle. Dom slid from his chair to get more coffee. “What kind of stuff do you like?” she asked while she waited for the kettle to boil.

Dom shrugged. “I like anime.”

“Really?” This _was_ going to be like hanging out with Ethan. Speaking of—Sarya pulled her phone out again.

There was no reception. No way to message him. Sarya frowned at the screen.

“They don’t work here. I tried.” He took a sip of coffee, made a face, then poured the rest down the sink. Then he headed to the common area, turning on the TV. Sarya followed, flopping into one of the burgundy reclining chairs as Dom flicked through the Netflix cue.

Picked _Devilman Crybaby_. Not one of her favorites—it was pretty over-the-top, even for anime.

“You’ve seen this one?” he asked.

“Yup.” She turned in the seat, leaning her back across the arm, spinning the chair so she could face the screen. “But I can watch it again.”

He pressed play, then dropped into a nearby chair, pulling the lever to bring the legs up. “Me, too.”


	6. Quit Thinking with Your Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How?” Gideon asked. “This place is full of people. We can’t just start throwing angel blades around. And even if we did, these incels would probably jump in front of her to protect her.”  
> “Wait, you know what an incel is?” Hope asked, momentarily distracted.  
> Gideon shook his head, impatient. “Do you think I live under a cave? There’s Internet in Heaven,” he snapped. A bit too loudly. More dirty looks. Gideon rolled his eyes, looking around the room, Hope sheepishly following his gaze.  
> \--------------------------------------  
> “I kissed Gideon.” She didn’t mean to say it, not that way, just blurting it out, but the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. She saw her eyes widen in the mirror, the towel still pressed to her face as she stepped back.  
> Then saw Seth's entire face go dark. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that, I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, some stuff happens.

“Jesus Christ, Gideon this place is _packed_.” Hope glanced around the large auditorium at the Vancouver Convention Centre, at the full seats, at the people standing along the back wall. There were even a few sitting on the floor of the aisle, likely in contravention of the fire code.

“Who knew a YouTube personality was so popular,” he replied, frowning.

Hope snorted. “Did you _see_ her?” she asked without thinking, the image of him staring at that phone flooding into her head. She remembered the heat filling his cheeks, the glazed look in his eyes. Shook her head to get rid of it. “This place is crawling with guys,” she remarked to cover her discomfort.

And it was. Only a handful of women occupied the seats, the rest full of men.

“Yeah, and they’re all pretty homely,” he said. “I might be the best-looking one here.” He wasn’t wrong. He was probably the best-looking guy in most rooms.

But here. With few exceptions, the men were young—probably under thirty—white, and decidedly unattractive—although that might have been from their expressions, like the world owed them something. Hope nearly choked on the air, thick with desperation and Axe body spray.

She swatted at Gideon’s arm while they found a patch of wall to occupy. “Don’t let it get to your head. It’s big enough as it is.”

Gideon raised his brows, the picture of guileless innocence. “Me? I am nothing if not humble,” he said.

Hope snorted again, leaning against the pale olive-green wall, glancing at the podium on the stage to their right. She felt apprehensive, like she was waiting for Hitler to take the stage. Or Donald Trump. At least the audience was the same; she pressed her lips together to keep from nervous laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Gideon asked, leaning toward her, but she just shook her head.

Then Lillian Barnes appeared.

It wasn’t possible, shouldn’t have been possible, but she was even more beautiful in person. She didn’t even look human. Because she’s _not_ , Hope reminded herself. Still, she couldn’t help but compare, brushing a frizzy curl off her forehead as she stared at Lillian’s smooth, shiny auburn waves. Hope could tell Lillian was at least a head taller than she was even without the metallic stilettos she wore. Her houndstooth pencil skirt emphasized every lush curve, hitting her calves at just the right spot to make them look even longer, leaner, her tight, V-necked black sweater making her breasts look incredible.

She looked like the hottest goddamn schoolteacher on Earth.

And Gideon noticed, wearing the same hypnotized expression as everyone else in the room. Hope leaned over, poking him in the ribs. “Hey, quit thinking with your dick. I need you to focus.”

“Huh?” Gideon tore his gaze from Lillian, an embarrassed flush creeping across his face. “Sorry. It’s just—”

“I know.” She gave him a sardonic smile. “It’s hard.”

Gideon pressed his lips together, and it was Hope’s turn to blush.

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, swatting his arm. He barked out a laugh, prompting a bunch of dirty looks from some nearby attendees.

Lillian adjusted the microphone clipped to one side of her sweater, smiling widely, her gaze roving across the front of the house. Then the back. “My my, it is lovely to see such a crowded house this evening,” she said in her elegant, melodic voice, a large ruby pendant swaying gently at her throat.

Wait. That ruby—it must be one of the stones from the box, the one meant to contain Lust. Pretty ballsy to be wearing it right in the open like that.

“I’m so pleased you’re all enjoying my videos,” Lillian said, continuing to scan the room. “And I hope you’re learning something about yourselves, as well.” Scattered applause. Lillian nodded, looking humbled.

Hope didn’t buy it. She stared at Lillian, narrowing her eyes. Could’ve sworn she could see the demon inside. It was strong, the power radiating from her like an aura. Crimson. Deadly.

“We’re going to do things a bit differently than you might expect. I’m not going to stand her and talk to you. You can watch my videos for that.” A soft chime of a laugh. “Instead, I’m going to make this experience more personal. More interactive.”

“Oh no,” Hope breathed, a pit of dread dropping into her stomach. Seth said Lillian had to touch her victims to infect them, and it looked like she was getting ready to do just that. Hope snapped her head to Gideon to see his matching horrified expression. “We have to stop her.”

“How?” he asked. “This place is full of people. We can’t just start throwing angel blades around. And even if we did, these incels would probably jump in front of her to protect her.”

“Wait, you know what an incel is?” Hope asked, momentarily distracted.

Gideon shook his head, impatient. “Do you think I live under a cave? There’s Internet in Heaven,” he snapped. A bit too loudly. More dirty looks. Gideon rolled his eyes, looking around the room, Hope sheepishly following his gaze.

There.

“The fire alarm,” she said, pointing, already peeling herself away from the wall. “It’ll get everyone out before she can do anything.”

“Leaving so soon?”

Hope froze after only a few steps, whirling her head to Lillian, who gazed at her, head tilted, delicate eyebrows raised. Followed by everyone else in the room, who looked much less concerned and more like an angry mob. Hope swallowed, trying to come up with something, anything to say.

But her mind was blank, her focus gone.

“I find those who resist are the ones most in need of my help,” Lillian said softly, her green eyes glittering with barely concealed malice. “Perhaps you should come up here. Let me _help_ you.” Hope was rooted to the spot, couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. She felt the hostility seeping from the others like smoke, could tell at one word from Lillian, they would swarm her. “Or I could come to you.”

Lillian stepped from the podium, descending the stairs, her pendant swaying. Hope’s panic rose as she whipped her head around, looking for help, for a way out. Something.

Then Gideon was there, stepping in front of her, into Lillian’s path. He turned to her to mouth just one word.

“Go.”

Hope went. Raced down the row of seats, nearly tripping more than once on people’s feet, feeling their dirty looks on her as she ran. She dashed up the aisle, dodging the people who reached to grab her arm, her ankle. Made it to the fire alarm, yanking the bar down, the sudden noise too loud, too jarring for her already frazzled nerves.

She turned back, expecting to see Gideon right behind her.

But he wasn’t.

She flicked her eyes across the room, searching. And found Gideon, just as Lillian closed her hand around his wrist.

“No!” she cried, but nobody heard her over the wail of the alarm, over the rush of feet as people headed for the doors, a stream of humanity Hope couldn’t cross, couldn’t move against. She would have to wait until the aisle was clear.

But it was already too late. Or was it? Seth _had_ told her that Nephilim were immune due to their angel blood.

She couldn’t tell from this distance whether Gideon was infected but he didn’t resist, didn’t pull away from Lillian’s touch. Lillian smiled at him and Hope could see the venom hidden beneath it, could see beyond the glamour to the demon inside.

It smiled, too—only at her. Hope’s fought back a shudder, nearly vibrating with impatience. She needed to get Gideon away from that demon, that monster—

Finally, the aisle was empty. Hope dashed across it, following the wall until she reached them both, gripping Gideon’s other wrist, pulling him to face her.

“You’re too late,” Lillian spat, her smile transforming into a sneer. “He’s _mine_.”

Hope drew her angel blade, pointing it at her.

“That little toy won’t work on me, girl. I existed before its creators were even born. I’m older than the angels, older than even your God.”

“Oh yeah?” Hope opened her hands, releasing Gideon, her angel blade thudding on the carpet. “Eat this, then.” She pressed forward, energy flooding from her outstretched hands to strike Lillian in the chest. Lillian was forced to release Gideon as she flew back over the chairs, hitting the podium and knocking it aside as she landed on the stage.

Hope didn’t wait to see what Lillian would do next. She snatched Gideon’s hand, dropping to her knees to fetch her angel blade before they vanished.

#

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hope’s eyes were concerned as she peered at Gideon, making him feel a bit like a specimen under a microscope. They sat on the roof of the Hall of Healing, the cool night breeze on his face, erasing the last of the fogginess from his head.

“Yes,” he said for what felt like the millionth time. When they first returned, he’d felt dazed, like he’d been woken too abruptly from sleep. But now he felt fine. Like himself. No especially lustful thoughts in his head.

At least, not any more than usual.

He thought he was over it. Over her. It was easier the last few months when she was hardly there. But now, with them working so closely together again—

But she loved someone else.

He dropped her worried gaze, turning to look at the stars in the darkening sky. He didn’t _want_ to feel this way about her; he wanted it to be like it was before. Easy. Simple.

“Gideon.” God, just the way she said his name—he reluctantly turned to look at her.

“I’m fine—” he said, more harshly than he intended. He closed his eyes, loosed a breath, opened them again. “Sorry.” He gave her a half-smile.

Hope shrugged, using the slab of citrine behind them to pull up to stand, reaching her hand to him. “C’mon. You know what always works for me?”

His raised his brows.

“Netflix. And wine.”

He rolled his eyes, taking her hand to pull himself up. But he overshot it, stumbling forward, grabbing her shoulder to keep from tripping.

Good god. She smelled amazing. He had to move, to put some distance between them. But just as he slid his hand away, hers shot up, grasping it, bringing his thumb to her lips.

And then her eyes blazed as she bit into the pad. Hard.

Any vestige of control he had evaporated as he brought her close, closer, pulling his hand away to replace it with his mouth. She stiffened, for the tiniest moment.

Then opened to him, whimpering into his mouth. He buried his hands in her hair, turning to press her against the citrine spire, tasting her lips, her mouth, her tongue.

He’d been with others. But this was different. Hotter. Fiercer. He tore his mouth from hers, kissing her jaw, her neck, feeling her pulse bounding beneath his lips.

Hope’s hands were at his back, pulling up his shirt, digging her nails into his spine. He sank his teeth into her throat, feeling her sag against him as she dragged her hands up his back, running her fingers through his hair. Then pulled it, hard enough to jerk his head back, his eyes meeting hers.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, her eyes growing clearer.

And horrified.

She pushed Gideon away, then slammed her hands against his chest as if by instinct. As she healed him, his white-hot desire melted, faded away, quickly replaced with shame. He saw the same expression in her eyes and he felt even worse.

What had he done? And what has he done to her? To their friendship?

The second she released him he turned, heading for the path back down the tower. But she grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“It’s not your fault,” she said quietly, pulling him to face her. “You were infected.” She smiled, half-embarrassed, half-reassuring. “You must have infected me, too. When we touched.” Her face flamed as she dropped his hand.

“Yeah, that must be it,” he said. But he wasn’t convinced. He’d had _those_ feelings long before tonight. They were just…amplified. Uncontrollable. He closed his eyes, dropping his head.

He didn’t want to lose her friendship. Was glad she didn’t seem to blame him, to hold either of them responsible for what happened. He needed to control himself better until it went away.

If it went away.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asked. She didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “About this?”

Hope’s eyes darkened as she frowned. “I don’t know.” She headed to the path and started to follow it down, Gideon keeping his distance behind her, grateful it was too narrow to walk side-by-side.

“I cheated on my husband. It’s why we split up.” She paused, waiting for him to catch up. “This wasn’t your fault. Or mine. And at least we learned our blood doesn’t make us immune, which is good to know.” She turned just long enough to give him a half-smile. “And it can be cured. Healed. Still, I’m not sure how he would take it.”

They reached the door, Hope pressing her hand against it. “I’ll worry about it later. Tomorrow.” She sighed. “But I’m still game for some TV if you are.”

He nodded. He sure as hell wasn’t tired, didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep at all. But that reminded him— “Oh yeah, I should have told you sooner.” He bit his lip, frowning. “I, uh…gave Sarya your old room. Figured you should have something larger. Better. More fitting for your position as assistant Nephilim trainer?”

Hope grinned. “I hope I get a plaque with that on it.” Then she shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’ve slept there in months anyway. I usually stay at the apartment.”

Gideon sighed. “I know. But I wanted you to have a place up here anyway. In case you need it.” He followed her through the door, then along the corridor to the elevator. “I can show you later,” he said, pointing to the rail, several floors up. “The view is spectacular.”

#

The sky was already starting to lighten through the blinds of the balcony door when Hope crept into the living room of her place. She and Gideon had stayed up way too late. At some point, he had acquired a Nintendo Switch and they spent the time playing Mario Cart.

Seth had obviously fallen asleep waiting for her, his head against the back of the couch, his feet splayed ungracefully across the floor. His one hand was curled against his chest, which rose and fell in a slow, deep cycle. Hope watched him sleep, feeling her heart crack, imagining his face when she told him what had happened.

It was part of the reason she was so late. She’d been stalling, feeling guilty about the kiss, even though she knew it wasn’t her, that it was the infection. She and Gideon had silently agreed to pretend it hadn’t happened, to try to go back to how they were. As they played, they joked about which character was a better driver, ribbing each other when the other won. But she kept seeing him out of the corner of her eye, stealing glances at her, looking upset. Pained. Not that she didn’t do the same thing, worried that no matter the reason, their relationship, their friendship had changed, and they _couldn’t_ go back, no matter how much they both wanted to.

She silently padded into the bedroom, changing into a pair of cotton sleep shorts and a tank, then headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She would let Seth sleep, would try to get some rest herself in the bedroom. Though she wasn’t sure she would be able to get her mind to stop whirling long enough.

Just as she wiped the toothpaste from the corner of her mouth, she glanced into the mirror. And saw Seth’s face in the reflection. He smiled at hers, his eyes still glassy with sleep.

“Hey,” he said, giving her an easy smile. “You’re late.”

“I kissed Gideon.” She didn’t mean to say it, not that way, just blurting it out, but the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. She saw her eyes widen in the mirror, the towel still pressed to her face as she stepped back.

Then saw his entire face go dark. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that, I think.”

He sounded calm, calmer than Hope felt anyway. Her heart was going like a triphammer, her fingers tingling, then going numb. She fumbled to replace the towel on the bar, turning to face Seth, not sure what to say, how to even begin to explain what happened.

Seth sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned away, heading back into the living room. Hope followed, feeling as though she was walking to her execution. She sat at the edge of the sofa, burying her hands in her face. She felt sick and miserable and guilty. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

She had a sudden flash of the day when Jake found out she’d cheated on him. He must have grown suspicious because he broke into her phone, read all her text messages, gone through her contacts. He’d been so angry, and not just because she’d cheated—it was a brief fling, only lasting a month or so—but _because_ she hadn’t told him, because she’d covered it up. For weeks.

She remembered the look of betrayal on his face when he confronted her, how sick and awful she’d felt, knowing she’d caused it. Knowing she’d hurt someone she loved so badly. And now she probably cared about Seth even more than she ever had for Jake, and she’d done the same thing.

She held her breath as she heard a glass clink at the liquor cabinet, waiting for Seth to smash it, to yell at her, to do…something.

Instead, there was a thud on the coffee table in front of her, then she felt the sofa shift as Seth sat at the other end.

“Look at me,” he said, quietly. The calm before the storm. She couldn’t. Couldn’t face him, couldn’t face that he might look at her like Jake had. That she’d ruined this.

He shifted until he was beside her, his hands on her wrists. Pulled them down, away from her face. Then he reached to tilt her chin up to face him.

He didn’t look angry. He looked…confused.

“Tell me. Everything.”

So she did, telling him about the convention center, how she tried to get everyone out, how Lillian tried to trap her and how Gideon placed himself in Lillian’s way. Then about what happened on the roof of the Hall of Healing. The entire time she talked, Seth didn’t say a word, just watched her, his face revealing nothing, no hint of how he felt. It made Hope nervous so she kept talking, veering off into rambling.

Finally, she was done. The only thing she didn’t tell him about was the awkward aftermath in the common room. She felt like that needed to stay between her and Gideon, at least until they sorted it out.

Her throat burned with the lump that lodged there since she’d walked in the door, all the talking making it worse. She should get up, drink some water. But she didn’t, reaching for the glass in front of her, filled with at least three fingers of straight bourbon. She drank about half of it, feeling a different burn, the fire of the alcohol melting the lump. She took a deep breath. Then turned to face Seth, preparing herself for the worst.

But he just sighed, reaching for his own drink, running his hands through his tangled dark hair. “You were infected,” he said, finally. “You and the Nephilim.”

Hope nodded, staring at the bottom of her glass.

“Damnit, Hope, look at me,” he commanded.

She did. Reluctantly. Then widened her eyes.

“I’m not angry,” he said. “At least not with you.” A ghost of a smile. “I was the one who told you that you were immune. Clearly I was wrong.” He downed the rest of his glass. “It was a mistake. A big one—”

Hope opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

“Not just yours.” He sighed again. “You just kissed?”

Hope nodded.

“Did you—do you want him? Do you have feelings for him?”

Hope hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t _let_ herself think about it. Not the entire time when she was with Gideon and she certainly wasn’t going to think about it now. And she didn’t want to upset Seth by taking too long to answer so she shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice hoarse, from exhaustion, from talking, from the booze. “No. We’re just friends. That’s it.”

“Then we’re okay,” he said slowly, pulling her closer. “We’ll be okay. It was just a bad night. We’ll get past it.”

“You’re really not mad?”

“I’m not thrilled about it,” he confessed, frowning, sliding his hands up to her shoulders. “But I’m not mad.” He brought his face closer. “I trust you. If you say nothing more is going on, I believe you. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you before. I’m not going to start now. Not over this.” His eyes grew lighter, bluer now than grey. “I’m nearly a thousand years old. It would be silly to lose my shit over one kiss.”

He closed the distance, brushing his mouth with hers before he stood, pulling her up with him and leading her to the bedroom. “Besides,” he said, his lips quirking up in a smile, “I intend to make you forget all about it.”

“Seth,” Hope protested, letting him pull her along, her exhaustion getting the better of her. “I can’t. I’m too tired. I need sleep.”

Seth pulled back the covers, gently lowering her onto the bed, then tucking her in. “I didn’t mean now,” he said, dropping a light kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest.” A wicked smile played at his lips. “You’re going to need it.”

#

Jacob Laurence slowly made his way around the nearly complete storefront in Soho, his heart sinking. Another investor had backed out, this one only two days before opening, saying a restaurant here would be too risky.

But what she really meant was _his_ restaurant here would be too risky.

He’d be _ruined_ if he didn’t open. He’d already put out announcements everywhere. Had at least half a dozen food critics and far too many bloggers set to appear for opening night.

His last restaurant had failed. It wasn’t his fault—his business partner, Steven, had screwed him out of all their profits, emptying their business account and taking off to God knows where. But the investors didn’t care whose fault it was. These days, if you weren’t on the Food Network or a YouTube celebrity, nobody wanted to give you a dime.

Jacob ran his hands through his hair as he headed for the door. Another dream in the gutter.

And walked right into a devastatingly handsome man, followed closely by an even more beautiful woman. The man looked vaguely familiar, maybe like someone he’d seen on TV.

“Jacob,” said the man. “Jacob Laurence.” How the hell did this stranger know his name?

“Who are you?” Jacob stepped back, feeling suddenly wary.

“Your guardian angels, I believe.”

Jacob barked out a single laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Did Steven put you up to this? Was it his last ‘fuck you’ to me?”

“No.” The woman’s lips lifted in a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re here to invest.”

“Yeah, right. Get in line.” Jacob rolled his eyes, moving to step around them and out the door. But the woman reached out to grasp his wrist, pulling him close to them. Uncomfortably close.

“What do you want?” the man asked, his dark, dark blue eyes huge, engulfing Jacob’s vision. He could have sworn he felt thin tendrils of…something snaking through his skull, wrapping around his brain. They felt dark; he tried to fight their pull, but they were too strong.

“I want everyone to know my name,” Jacob confessed, the words ripped from his mind and out his mouth.

“We can make that happen.” The woman’s voice was smooth, soothing. Jacob stopped fighting the pull, let them in. “I’ll need you to do something for us, though.”

“Anything.” Jacob’s voice sounded far away, even to his own ears.

“Just say yes,” the man breathed, his words caressing Jacob’s face, heating his face.

“Yes,” said Jacob. He was utterly unable to say anything else. The strange man kissed him, then he felt a cold kiss of metal on his left fingertip, sliding along his knuckle to settle at the base of his index finger. The man released his grip on Jacob’s mind just long enough for him to look down, to glance at the large opal set into the silver band on his finger.

Jacob felt a jolt of incandescent energy surge up his arm, into his chest, flaring throughout his entire body. Then everything went dark.


	7. Who the Hell are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the last knife landed, Sarya, her face now flushed, positioned herself, trying to imitate Dom’s stance. But she was still far too stiff, her arm movement stilted, releasing the knife too early.  
> Not realizing Dominic had already headed for the dummy to retrieve his.  
> Her knife went wide, aimed at his target. At his back.  
> Hope’s bolted up and threw her hands out to stop the knife, to re-direct it.  
> Then froze. In the time it took her to get up, the knife was on the ground, Dominic sprawled on the floor beside the dummy, Sarya on top of him.  
> There was no way Sarya could have moved that fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarya finally starts showing she has powers, but it's not anything anyone's seen before.  
> Then Hope, Gideon, and Raphael decide to break it to her who her father is.  
> It goes as well as you'd expect.

Hope met Gideon’s eye from where she sat, cross-legged on the floor, halfway along the mirrored wall in the training room. He was leaning against the large armoire at one end of the long room, his look of concern mirroring hers. Two training dummies had been set up on the other side.

Sarya was glaring at hers, a throwing knife in her hand, a scatter of similar knives on the floor beneath her dummy. Dominic had used all his knives, managing to land them all in the target, although not in the center.

They had been practicing for two days. Raphael was still working on the box, and there had been no news of any further unusual occurrences on Earth. Hope wanted to think, after the other night, Lillian would be lying low. But she knew better.

She felt restless, waiting for Lillian to make a move. For any of the seven sins to make a move. But there was nothing to be done, not until the container was complete, until they figured out where the sins were. So, she and Gideon had started training Sarya and Dominic.

Sarya shook out her shoulders, tipping her head from side to side, her dark hair swinging back and forth as she planted her feet. Awkwardly. Even Hope could tell her legs were too close together, her stance too narrow. Hope raised her eyes to Gideon, silently asking if he would correct it, but he just held up a finger. He wanted to see if Sarya would fix it herself first.

She didn’t.

As Sarya prepared to throw the knife, she leaned way too far back, throwing herself off balance. She pitched forward, the knife wobbly as it left her fingers, not even reaching the dummy before it clattered to the floor. She bit her lip, looking like she was fighting tears. Hope gave Gideon another look and he grinned, peeling himself off the armoire to approach them.

“Better. But we still have time for another round before we break for lunch,” he said. “Go get your knives and we’ll try one more time.” Dominic strode forward, his steps graceful, fluid, almost like he was dancing as he approached his dummy. He reminded Hope of Gideon when he moved.

Sarya stalked over, her movements jerky, showing her frustration as she bent, snatched the knives, and headed back. Hope was surprised. She supposed she expected Sarya to be naturally gifted, especially if she was Lucifer’s daughter.

It wasn’t fair. She knew that.

Still, if she hadn’t sensed Sarya, hadn’t felt that tug herself, she might have second-guessed Sarya was Nephilim at all. Sarya hadn’t hit the target with a single knife in the last two days, couldn’t even generate a glimmer of light when they’d tried healing yesterday afternoon.

And, although Gideon didn’t show it, Hope knew he was wondering the same thing.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Gideon said, once the other two had their knives. “Sarya, get into position.”

Sarya placed herself into another awkward position and Gideon placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to the side, sliding his foot against hers to widen her stance. Hope had to bite her lip to keep from giggling as Sarya blushed at the contact.

“That’s better,” said Gideon, stepping away. “Can you feel the difference? You want to bring your center of gravity lower. Now bring your arm back—not your whole body, you’ll lose your balance—that’s it. Swing your arm, then when you reach here—” he lightly gripped her wrist, bringing it forward, stopping it just before he could swing it down “—release your fingers. Don’t _throw_ it. Let it fly.” He stepped back. “Now you try.”

Sarya, her cheeks flaming, bit her lip, mimicking the action Gideon just showed her. Swung her arm, releasing the knife. It sailed across the room, landing just outside the target painted on the dummy.

It was the closest she’d come to actually hitting it. Hope was about to congratulate her, but—

“Ugh,” Sarya cried, rolling her head back, stamping her foot. “How am I so bad at this?”

Gideon winked at Hope, probably remembering her own training. How, the first time they’d met, she’d lost her temper and sent a training blade flying across the room, impaling it in the dummy’s chest.

“You’ll get better,” he said to Sarya, gently. “You just need more practice.”

She made an unhappy noise in her throat, her shoulders slumping.

“C’mon,” said Gideon, walking to Hope, sliding down the wall to sit beside her. “Try again. Sarya, just try to stay loose, relaxed. Remember, let the knife fly from your fingers. Don’t throw it.”

Sarya didn’t say anything but her back stiffened, her eyes glittering as she stared at the dummy.

Dominic got into position, making small adjustments, the way Hope had seen Gideon do, making sure his balance was perfect before he readied the knife. Dom swung his arm back, his grip on the knife light, sure. Brought it forward in a graceful arc, then released it just at the right moment.

Bullseye.

Then again, and again. Hope glanced at Gideon, eyes wide as Dom landed each knife in the center of the target, over and over. Even Sarya hadn’t moved, her jaw dropping slightly as she narrowed her eyes.

As the last knife landed, Sarya, her face now flushed, positioned herself, trying to imitate Dom’s stance. But she was still far too stiff, her arm movement stilted, releasing the knife too early.

Not realizing Dominic had already headed for the dummy to retrieve his.

Her knife went wide, aimed at his target. At his back.

Hope’s bolted up and threw her hands out to stop the knife, to re-direct it.

Then froze. In the time it took her to get up, the knife was on the ground, Dominic sprawled on the floor beside the dummy, Sarya on top of him.

There was no way Sarya could have moved that fast.

Hope stared at her, met her dark eyes, as wide as Hope’s must have been. Dominic looked stunned at the impact but didn’t seem to realize what had just happened.

Hope slowly slid her gaze to Gideon, terror gripping her heart, her chest, making it hard to breathe. Gideon’s face was white with shock, his eyes darkening as he shifted his gaze from Dom and Sarya to Hope.

“ _Can_ Nephilim move that fast?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

Gideon shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Can anyone?”

He shook his head again.

Hope snapped her head back to Sarya, who was climbing off Dom, her own face ashen. “What did you do?” she asked, so quietly Sarya couldn’t have heard her. Shouldn’t have heard her.

But she answered anyway.

“I froze time,” she said.

#

“Have you ever seen anyone do that?” Hope asked Raphael. She and Gideon were in his office, on the top floor of the Hall of Wisdom. It was huge and white, the glowing quartz walls bare, bright, unadorned. They sat on a sleek white leather sofa facing a long quartz desk, Raphael perched on a matching office chair on the other side. Brilliant sunlight trickled through the domed quartz ceiling above, making the room even brighter, starker.

Hope wished she’d brought sunglasses.

Raphael shook his head, concern furrowing his brow. “I did not even realize it was possible,” he said, his voice soft. “I have seen some Nephilim who could freeze objects in midair, you amongst them.” A slight smile. “But never time itself.”

“Could she have inherited the skill from Lucifer?” Gideon asked, his entire face a twin of Raphael’s, except it was usually softer, more human. But not now. His worry turned his face hard and angular.

“I do not believe so,” Raphael said, shaking his head again. “But I confess I am not the most knowledgeable about his abilities. Samael might—”

“He doesn’t know about Sarya,” Hope interrupted, knowing the expression on her face told them it was on purpose, that she wanted to keep it that way. For now, anyway. “I mean, it might not even be true, right? We don’t know for sure. And he seemed to think it was impossible. That Lucifer would never sleep with a human.” Hope flushed, lowering her eyes.

“C’mon, there is no way that guy did not fuck,” scoffed Gideon. Hope glanced over at him, then pointedly turned her face to Raphael, and back to Gideon. He glared at her, giving her the finger out of Raphael’s eyeline. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

“He’d do just about anything to get something he wanted—or cause someone pain,” Gideon continued. “Although, now we’re talking about it, I’m having a hard time seeing what he could have wanted, or needed, from Sarya’s mother.” One side of his mouth curled up. “She seems a little uptight.”

“A little?” Hope snorted. “The pole up her ass is probably only a little shorter than—” she cut herself off before she could finish that sentence, her face flaming once more. Gideon burst into laughter beside her.

“Where is the girl now?” asked Raphael, his own lips twitching. Had he developed a sense of humor in the months she had been gone? She didn’t think it was possible, but…

“In the common room. With Dominic.” The smile left Gideon’s face. “It’s weird. Until she pulled that…trick, she wasn’t showing any promise at all. I was beginning to wonder if Hope had made a mistake.”

“You and me both,” Hope retorted. “But Dominic—”

Gideon whistled. “It’s almost scary, how quickly he’s picking everything up.” He frowned. “Makes me wonder who _his_ parents are.”

“You have not asked him?” Raphael said, pushing up from the chair.

Hope snorted this time. “He’s a teenage boy. Not super chatty.”

Raphael nodded, waving his hand as he wove around the desk, motioning for Hope and Gideon to get up. “I believe I should like to meet these new Nephilim. Although it is no longer my duty to train them, I may be able to provide some…insight.” He held out his hands and Hope and Gideon each grasped one.

“Hey, I could use all the insight you can give,” Gideon said, winking at Hope, “Dad.” But Hope didn’t get to see Raphael react before they vanished.

#

Seth frowned, letting the book thud against the coffee table in Hope’s living room. He’d read it, cover to cover. Twice. But he couldn’t find anything to explain how Hope and the other Nephilim had been infected. According to the text, they should have been immune, protected by their angel blood—or demon blood, in Hope’s case.

Unless it wasn’t enough. That their humanity was just enough of a weakness to make them vulnerable. Although Hope had been able to snap out of it, had the instinct—or the presence of mind—to heal him.

It was important information, the knowledge the infection could be cured. Healed. That they could prevent more deaths when one of the sins struck next. And it was just a matter of time before they did; Seth was surprised they hadn’t yet.

But Hope and the Nephilim would need to avoid becoming infected again. And he would need to be careful as well. Just in case his own divine blood wasn’t protection enough. Maybe if he could get his siblings involved—

Seth jumped off the couch, rolling his eyes. Of course. Lucifer kept journals. Meticulous ones. For centuries. There was no way he didn’t write down everything he knew about the sins when he released them the first time.

The only question was whether Seth wanted them badly enough, wanted the information badly enough, to go into Lucifer’s private chamber—still completely untouched—and fetch them. He definitely wasn’t crazy about the idea. Hadn’t even liked going there when he worked with Lucifer.

And that was when Lucifer was alive. The thought of rifling through his things, of reading his thoughts—Seth had a pretty good idea which way they leaned.

But maybe it might occupy him, help erase the image he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for the last two days. Of Hope, in that Nephilim’s arms. Kissing him. And _liking_ it.

Seth blew out a breath, steeling himself. Time to learn way more about Lucifer than he ever wanted to.

#

“I don’t make the rules, I just play by them,” Sarya said smugly, having just won what had to be the ninth or tenth _Mario Cart_ race in a row. Dominic flung his controller—snapped into a small plastic wheel attachment—onto the carpet beside him, slouching further in the maroon chair.

“And what rule is that?”

“That Peach is the best driver.” She couldn’t help but grin. “Peach is the best character in all the sports games. Tennis, bowling, even beach volleyball. It is known.”

Dom rolled his eyes as his mouth stretched into a reluctant smile, the first smile Sarya had ever seen from him. He lifted his head and pressed his hands into the chair arms to stand, arching his back as he rose. “Coffee?” he asked, heading to the kitchen.

“Tea.” Sarya turned back to the television, starting up a new race, even though Dom wasn’t playing. It was the Elecrodome, full of bright flashing lights and thumping techno music. She was so absorbed in playing, in trying to get past the AI Mario kicking her ass, that she barely heard the clatter of metal on the floor behind her.

“You okay?” she asked, absently, just as she tossed a blue mushroom at Mario.

“Yeah,” Dom replied. “Just not used to people appearing from nowhere.”

“What—” Sarya whipped her head around to see Hope, Gideon, and some other guy who looked just like Gideon sitting at the island. Then turned back to the game just in time for Peach to drive off the edge of the road. Sarya rolled her eyes, waited for Lakitu to reset Peach on the path, then started to drive again until she realized she was now in eighth place. No point in finishing the course. She pressed pause and headed to the kitchen, dropping into the only seat left, beside Hope.

Hope got up once the coffee was ready, pouring a cup for herself and Gideon. Dominic took her place, placing his own cup on the counter.

“Sarya, this is Raphael.” Gideon smiled at her as he indicated the man beside him. He did look just like Gideon, but…older somehow. He had no grey in his hair, no lines on his face, but—

“He’s the Archangel of Wisdom. He used to be the Archangel of Healing, in charge of training Nephilim, until I took over.” Gideon flushed a bit as he finished speaking. Good lord. Looking that adorable should be illegal.

But that explained it. If Raphael was an archangel, he must be _old_.

“Dom, you remember Raphael?” Gideon turned to him. “He brought you here, got you out of that brawl on the pier.”

Dom nodded, covering his face with his mug. But Sarya could see him from the corner of her eye, knew he was comparing the two side by side, seeing the resemblance.

Raphael fixed his steady gaze on Sarya, making her slink down in the stool, making her hunch her back. His expression was nothing like good humored one Gideon usually had; Raphael looked like he was trying to see into her very soul. “What do you know of your father, Sarya?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” she whispered. Then cleared her throat, taking a sip of the tea Hope placed in front of her as Hope stood at the island between Dom and Raphael. Sarya tried again. “Nothing. My mother would never talk about him. Wouldn’t let me talk about him. It’s like he never existed.” She looked at Gideon, then Raphael, then finally at Hope, took in their identical expressions of unease.

They weren’t telling her something.

“You know who he is.” It wasn’t a question.

Gideon and Hope didn’t say anything, their faces shifting from unease to dismay as they glanced at each other. But Raphael’s expression softened, became more sympathetic.

Whatever they knew, it was bad. Really bad.

“We believe your father may have been—Lucifer,” Raphael said with a huge sigh.

“What!” Sarya dropped her cup, jumping off the stool in surprise just as much as to avoid having hot tea land in her lap. “You can’t be serious.” She stared at them all, half-expecting a punchline, for this to be a joke, some sort of Nephilim hazing thing.

But they all looked dead-serious. And worried. Sarya’s pulse started to pound in her ears, her fingers going numb. “You think I’m the daughter of the devil?” she whispered.

Nobody replied but they all looked super uncomfortable, including Dom, his ice-blue eyes fixed on a speck of non-existent dust on the counter.

Wait. All of them had blue eyes. Except for Hope.

Except for her.

She hadn’t really thought about it, but Alexi, that assistant angel had blue eyes too. As did the other angels she saw as she went around the hall.

But her eyes were black. Not dark brown. Black. As dark as her pupils. She had never seen anyone with eyes like hers.

And now she knew why.

“It can’t be true,” she breathed, backing away from them. “It’s not true. You’re trying to scare me. Trying to make me quit. Because I suck.”

“No, Sarya,” pleaded Hope, moving toward her, her hand outstretched. “I think it’s _why_ you suck.” A hint of a smile. “Because you _are_ Nephilim. But your abilities may not be…typical.” Sarya let Hope grab her hand and pull her back. “Nobody’s ever frozen time like that before. We don’t even think Lucifer could do it.” She led Sarya back to the island, sliding her hands to Sarya’s shoulders as she guided her back onto the stool.

“You belong here. You _need_ to be here. Need to learn what you can do. And how to control it,” Gideon said, giving her an encouraging smile.

“Because you’re scared of me. You’re worried about what I could do on Earth.” Sarya felt tears prick her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t, couldn’t let them see her crying like a baby about this.

“A little,” Gideon replied, reaching for her hand. Hope gently kneaded Sarya’s shoulders, and Sarya was surprised she found it comforting, reassuring. Maybe because Ethan used to do that all the time when she was upset.

She _missed_ him.

“Sarya, we can show you how to control your power and help you figure out your other abilities,” Raphael said gently. “You may be surprised to learn you are not the only one here with a less than ideal parent.” His gaze slid over to Hope.

Sarya spun to face her. “You?”

“Me,” replied Hope with a wry smile. “Except my father was a demon named Asmodeus. He was Lucifer’s lieutenant.” Her smile widened a bit. “And if I can learn to live with it, so can you. You always wanted to be a superhero, right?”

“Yeah, but maybe I’ll end up the villain,” Sarya replied, not able to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“Hardly,” scoffed Dom beside her. It was the first word he’s said this entire time. He lifted his head to look at her, and she could see it in his eyes. He had seen evil, real evil.

And thought she didn’t even come close.

Oddly, it made her feel a bit better. She gave him a half-smile, a look that told him he could talk to her about it, if he liked. But he just turned away, his face closing up again. Then a silence settled over the room, thick, heavy, loaded with everything just said. And maybe some things that weren’t.

“Jesus, who died?”

A voice, coming from behind Sarya. Behind Hope. Everyone’s eyes snapped over as Sarya whirled to see where it came from.

And Sarya saw the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. Tall. Dark. Dangerous. She felt her eyes widen, her cheeks flaming.

The man met her gaze, and she saw his slate blue eyes darken as he stared into hers, then flare with recognition. And hatred.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked her.

#

Seth stared at the girl, not able to believe his eyes. Hope had told him about the two neophytes, about how she and Gideon had begun to train them, but she hadn’t told him about _this_.

“What are you doing here?” Hope didn’t sound upset. She sounded confused. She smiled at him as she reached for his hand, the one holding the two red-leather bound books he’d brought. But in that smile there was a flash of something else—guilt.

She didn’t tell him about the girl on purpose. But why?

At least he now knew why she’d asked about Lucifer having children the other night. And why she’d started having the nightmares again.

He schooled his face, letting his lips lift in a smirk as he looked past Hope to Raphael, sitting at the table, solemn and somber. To Raphael’s son, sitting beside him, wearing an identical expression.

“I brought news.” He let Hope tow him to the end of the island, tossing the books onto the counter in front of Raphael. “Lucifer’s private journals. He wrote about the last time he released the sins, what he knew about them, their powers. And how to get them into that box.”

“Dear Diary, today I did something really bad. I set free the most powerful, evil entities in the universe and left them to wreak havoc on Earth, destroying humanity. Do you think it’s enough to get Father to notice me?” mocked Hope.

The neophyte—Dominic, if he remembered correctly—snorted beside her.

Seth turned to look at him. Saw his ice-blue eyes meet Seth’s, not a hint of fear or intimidation.

That kid had seen some scary shit to not be afraid of Seth.

Seth narrowed his eyes, searching for a clue, a hint of what could have happened to him, what would have made him so fearless so young.

He probably didn’t want to know.

Seth turned back to Raphael. “Maybe we should…take this somewhere else,” he said, giving Raphael a loaded look.

“Yeah, let the grownups talk.” Dominic’s voice oozed with sarcasm, making Seth snicker. At least the kid had a sense of humor, despite the personal hell he’d clearly been through. Seth liked him.

The girl though—Seth slid his eyes to hers, watched as she flushed from neck to hairline, dropping her head. She _seemed_ innocent enough. But—

He would have to keep an eye on her.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I name a whole character after someone from Legend of Zelda, only with a different spelling? _maybe_  
>  Regrets? None.
> 
> This is the second in a trilogy, so you are probably well-served by reading the first one. But you don't _have_ to.
> 
> And, as always, kudos and comments are welcome.


End file.
